


Only Forever

by kjanddean, Venusdoom3



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Attraction, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Best Friends, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Bucky is paranoid, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Couch Cuddles, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fooling Around, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hydra (Marvel), Intracrural sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn Watching, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Avengers, Regret, Rimming, S.H.I.E.L.D. is Compromised, Second Chances, Sharing a Bed, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve and Bucky Can't Get Enough, Steve is a virgin, Tony Being Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/pseuds/kjanddean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venusdoom3/pseuds/Venusdoom3
Summary: The man was silent momentarily, head down, holding the jacket in his lap. "Thanks," he mumbled. When he looked up, he leaned forward a little, and the light fell across his face, illuminating his features.The ghost had caught up to him.Steve fell to his knees, and what he said next fell from his lips without thought or permission:"Bucky?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com) challenge.
> 
> Art by the fantastic [kjanddean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/works). Thanks for inspiring me to write this monster!
> 
> Thanks also to [NurseDarry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry), who has been a most gracious, helpful, and constructive beta.
> 
> Rated Explicit for the content of future chapters. Buckle your seatbelts, kids. It's gonna be a smutty ride. 
> 
> Title from the [Bing Crosby song from 1940](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNCt6hkCUic), which is kinda my anthem for these two meatballs.

" _Bucky!_ "

As he often did, Steve awakened with the sound of his best friend's dying scream echoing in his mind. As every time he awoke from the same nightmare and opened his eyes, the tears trapped beneath his long, dark eyelashes spilled down the sides of his face, dampening the decorative throw pillow beneath him.

Sitting up, Steve scrubbed both hands over his face, willing his body to stop shaking. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the living room windows, filling the apartment with golden light that made him feel simultaneously lucky to be alive and utterly undeserving of such beauty. His breath hitched as he dragged himself off the couch, his sock-clad feet shuffling on the hardwood as he headed into the bathroom.

In the mirror, the effects of the nightmare – the recurring nightmare, if he was honest, which had been visiting him with increased frequency of late – were apparent, from the pallor of his face to the purplish circles beneath his eyes, and he grimaced, splashing some cool water on his face and running a wet hand through his hair before grabbing his navy blue canvas jacket from the hook by the door, patting his pockets for his keys, pulling on some shoes, and heading out into the wilds of Washington, D.C. to walk and clear his head.

It helped to walk, Steve mused as he trotted down the stairs from his apartment on the fourth floor of a beautiful, historic brick and stone building to the street below. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he headed southeast either by instinct or by compulsion. Walking helped him divert his attention from his brain's tendency to torture him by playing and replaying the moment when Bucky's hand slipped through his grasp, when Bucky plunged, screaming, into a frigid ravine in the Swiss mountains, when Steve forgot how to continue living – a skill he often thought he had yet to regain.

Walking allowed him to admire the architecture of the Dupont Circle area of D.C. It let him breathe in the chill of the January air. It allowed him to absorb the impending sunset and to watch the people scurrying past on foot or in vehicles. It filled his head with scenes and faces he often committed to paper or canvas later on. Most of all, it permitted him to think about something,  _anything_ , other than the still raw, bleeding cavity where his heart used to be and his decades-old guilt over failing, in the most fundamental way possible, the person closest to him in the world – even now, even still, nearly seventy years after his tragic death, which, in all honesty, Steve should really blame on HYDRA and on Arnim Zola in particular, but he could do nothing but blame himself.

It was his fault Bucky was dead. If Steve hadn't been so goddamn stubborn, hell-bent on joining the army that wanted nothing to do with his sickly, scrawny self, he never would have signed onto the government's top secret Rebirth project. Without Dr. Erskine's serum turning Steve into the brawny, super-powered hulk of muscle and uncanny agility he was today, he never would have made it overseas and ultimately to HYDRA's Austrian base to rescue Bucky from Zola's experiments–

– _without you rescuing him, he'd have died over a year earlier, and you never would have seen him again. You gave him that time as a gift of respect, of friendship, of_ love _, and you were able to spend those precious months at his side on the battlefield instead of alone in a drafty flat in Brooklyn, sick and lonely and dirt poor and wondering where Bucky was, if he was safe, if he was ever coming home_ –

–If not for Steve's transformation into the government's own dancing monkey, otherwise known as Captain America, Bucky would have been honorably discharged and sent home instead of storming enemy bases and blowing the heads off attacking troops and zip-lining onto speeding trains.

He would be alive. At least, he would have been alive then, back in 1944, and Steve wouldn't bear the guilt of his death, which made Steve reckless and vengeful and, yes, even suicidal.

As it turned out, he couldn't even do that right.

 _So much for walking to clear my mind,_  Steve thought, rolling his eyes, and only then did he realize where he was. He had plodded nearly three miles while immersed in his circular, torturous thoughts, trying to escape the ghost of Bucky Barnes, only to end up just minutes from the place where he could be felt more strongly than almost anywhere else: Arlington National Cemetery. Steve barely suppressed a groan, slowing his gait to an amble, and kicked at an empty cigarette package crumpled on the sidewalk. This was  _not_  how he intended to spend his evening. At the same time, he was helpless to stop himself from skirting the Lincoln Memorial on its west side and stepping onto the bridge, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the muted clink of the dog tags – one his, one Bucky's – hanging on a ball chain around his neck and tucked beneath his t-shirt.

Gazing out over the Potomac, Steve crossed the bridge and made his way into the cemetery, finding his way to Bucky's empty grave by rote, his shoes crunching on the frozen ground. Mindful of the time – it was quarter of five, growing dark, and the cemetery closed at five o'clock – Steve crouched by the headstone with his hand atop its austere stone surface, letting his eyes drift over the inscription he had already memorized:

_JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES_

_MEDAL OF HONOR_

_SGT_

_US ARMY_

_WORLD WAR II_

_MAR 10, 1917_

_MAR 4, 1945_

"Hey, Buck," Steve murmured, heaving a sigh that seemed to originate in the pit of his stomach. "It's me again. I know, I know; if you were here, you'd tell me I need to quit coming out here and find a dame to keep me occupied." At this, Steve snorted. "Little did you know, I never wanted any ol' dame. Wish I'da told you, pal. I probably would've, too, if we won the war together and went home. I didn't give a shit if it was wrong or right; all I wanted was you."

He fell silent, his eyes slipping closed against the threatening burn, his teeth clenched, his chest aching. Not for the first time, he wished with every fiber of his being that he had never been pulled from the wreck of the Valkyrie, that he had simply remained in his own icy grave, unconscious, unknowing, free of the pain that shaded gray every day since he awoke.

"Goddammit, Bucky!" Steve's voice came out soft and strangled, and he clutched the grave marker tighter, careful not to crush the stone in his grip. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've caught you. You were right there –  _right fucking there_. If I was faster, I... I shoulda jumped after you; I..." 

He cursed again, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Getting worked up wouldn't do any good; it would merely add to his misery, which was already a great, undulating specimen that needed no help from him. When he felt in control again, Steve patted the top of the marker and stood, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and turning toward the bridge. He paused after two steps, then looked over his shoulder and whispered, "I love you, jerk."

He stepped out of the cemetery gates at the stroke of five and walked back in the direction of his building. Although the sun had set, he was able to push Bucky to the back of his mind, at least temporarily, by seeking out something he would sketch later. It could be a building, a person, a street sign, a pigeon – it didn't matter, as long as his pencil didn't etch in graphite once again the sharp jawline, dimpled chin, straight nose, and expressive blue-gray eyes he often found on his paper when he was finished.

As Steve neared his apartment, he was considering sketching a particularly gnarled tree he’d seen at the corner of 21st Street and Hillyer Place when he tripped over something and stumbled; he managed to right himself without falling, and he turned to see what was in his path.

It was a backpack, a raggedy black thing that had seen better days, and its owner was already apologizing from his seated position with his back against the wall. He was tucked inside a recessed doorway belonging to the building next door to Steve's, and it was immediately obvious he was homeless, dressed in faded, frayed jeans that might have been black once and a shabby olive green jacket over a hoodie. A grimy ball cap pulled low on his head shaded his face from the light from the nearby street lamp, but Steve took note of the long, dark hair brushing the collar of the man's jacket.

"I'm sorry, pal," the man said in a gravelly voice, as if he rarely spoke or had just woken up. "I gotta watch where I leave my stuff. I was just looking for something, and–"

"Hey, hey – it's okay," Steve reassured him, peeling off his coat and crouching in front of the man to hand it to him. "Here, buddy. Take this."

"No, I can't–"

"You can," Steve said, his innate stubbornness creeping into his voice, "and you will. I live right there; I'll be okay without it, and you look like you could use it."

The man was silent momentarily, head down, holding the jacket in his lap. "Thanks," he mumbled. When he looked up, he leaned forward a little, and the light fell across his face, illuminating his features.

The ghost had caught up to him.

Steve fell to his knees, and what he said next fell from his lips without thought or permission: " _Bucky_?"

The man nodded slowly. "That's what they used to call me. I don't remember it, but that's what the display at the Smithsonian said."

"You–" Steve stammered, blinking hard. Was he still dreaming? Was this just an extension of his earlier nightmare. The world swam in and out of focus, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When he opened them, the man –  _could it be Bucky?_  – was watching him, wariness and curiosity at war on his heavily stubbled face.

"You  _are_  Steve, right?" he asked, uncertain. "Steve Rogers?"

Steve nodded, lightheaded. "Yeah, but you – how – you're..." He faltered to a stop, simply staring at the gaunt but achingly familiar face in front of him. "Bucky?" he asked again, almost inaudible, and the man in the baseball cap nodded again. "But  _how_? I... Never mind that. Listen," Steve said, reaching for the man's hand, which he only realized when his fingers closed around it that it was icy cold and made of metal. He didn't flinch, made a point not to react at all, and instead continued, "that's my building right there. Please come inside with me. I'll make us something to eat, and we can talk. Okay?"

The other man hesitated, but after one more plea from Steve, he nodded once more and stood. He was nearly as tall as Steve but not as bulky, and Steve grappled with and banished the urge to throw his arms around him.

Around  _Bucky_.

**

 

Click the image for larger resolution!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "See something green?" Bucky cracked, giving a shy, tentative smile, and Steve shook his head, chuckling.
> 
> "Nah, I just can't help staring," Steve said, setting the pot of sauce on a potholder on the island and placing the bowl of spaghetti nearby. "I don't know, something about my best friend returning from the dead after seven decades kind of caught my attention, you know?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm behind in my posting schedule, so you get two chapters today!

Steve led the way up the stairs and inside his apartment, locking the door behind them. "Come on in," he said, leading Bucky past the built-in bookshelves that separated the kitchen from the hallway, which brought them into the living room. The apartment's open floor plan was homey and welcoming, and Bucky looked around with interest as Steve showed him the entire place while essentially standing in one spot.

"The kitchen's here," Steve said, gesturing to the modern-looking kitchen to the right behind the bookshelf wall, "and the rest is basically just living space. The bedroom's through there." He pointed to his left at an open archway leading into another room. "Make yourself at home. I mean it. If you want to take a shower while I make supper, I'll grab you something to wear."

"That'd be great," Bucky replied, gratitude evident in his voice. "It's been a little while."

Steve managed a smile, his face numb, his hands shaking, and his body buzzing like a beehive. "I'm  _really_  glad you're here. I don't understand how, and I know you don't remember much, but  _damn_ , is it good to see you." To distract from the sheen of tears in his eyes, he clapped Bucky on the arm. It was distractingly solid; was it metal all the way to the shoulder? He ached to ask how it happened, but he didn't quite dare.

Bucky smiled back, a wan imitation of the million-watt, panty-dropping grin he used to flash, and followed Steve back up the hallway to the small bathroom, where Steve laid out clean towels, a fresh set of clothes, a disposable razor, and a new toothbrush before leaving Bucky to it, telling him to yell if he needed anything.

"I will. Thanks, Steve."

Dazed, Steve made his way into the kitchen, where he stood, staring into the fridge, for a good minute before snapping out of his stupor and grabbing a package of ground beef, which he tossed into a deep skillet while he put water on to boil. By the time the bathroom door opened again, the meat sauce was simmering, the spaghetti was cooked and tossed in olive oil, and the counter island, separating the kitchen from the rest of the main room, was set for two.

"Something smells amazing," Bucky said as he took a seat on one of the high stools by the counter.

"I've learned a few things since Brooklyn," Steve replied with a laugh, stirring the sauce before he turned around and forced his jaw not to unhinge in awe.

Bucky was still the most beautiful man he had ever seen. His dark brown hair was long, nearly brushing his shoulders, which was a far cry from the styles he'd worn both before and during the war. Since it was wet, he did, however, have it combed back from his face like he used to do. The scraggly beard growth was gone, only smooth, pale skin left behind, and his eyes appeared huge and luminous in the mellow light of the tasteful ceiling sconces hanging over the counter. He wore one of Steve's t-shirts, which revealed two important truths: Bucky was absolutely packed with lean, solid muscle, and his body fat percentage must be alarmingly low, considering the number of ribs Steve was able to count even from across the counter.

"See something green?" Bucky cracked, giving a shy, tentative smile, and Steve shook his head, chuckling.

"Nah, I just can't help staring," Steve said, setting the pot of sauce on a potholder on the island and placing the bowl of spaghetti nearby. "I don't know, something about my best friend returning from the dead after seven decades kind of caught my attention, you know?"

Bucky looked at his lap, and Steve moved to his side, distraught. "I was just kidding—"

"No, it's not you," Bucky murmured. "I'll tell you what happened – at least, what I remember. But can we—"

Before he even finished the sentence, Steve was already heaping Bucky's plate with pasta and drowning it in meat sauce. "Let's eat first," Steve said, and Bucky gave him a grateful look.

They managed to keep the conversation during dinner to lighter topics, mainly how much things had changed since the forties, and Steve was astonished to discover that, despite being a part of the twenty-first century for only a couple of years, he seemed to know more about technology and pop culture than Bucky did. "I gotta confess," Steve said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin, "I have a notebook where I write down all the things I have to catch up on. No matter how many movies I watch or songs I listen to or books I read, the list just keeps growing."

"I bet." Bucky forked the last bite of his third plate of pasta into his mouth and groaned, slumping against the back of the stool. "Ugh, I'm gonna explode. I don't think I've eaten that much in…" He paused to consider, his eyebrows drawing together. "Actually, I don't remember ever eating this much."

"Nobody could tell we're Depression kids, huh?"

Bucky smirked and then sighed. "Well… I told you we'd talk, so let's talk."

They relocated to the living room, where Steve built a fire; once they were comfortable on the large area rug with their backs braced against the couch and their feet pointing toward the warmth of the fireplace, Bucky began to speak. "Obviously, I survived the fall from the train," he said slowly, "even though I don't actually remember it. I only know about it from the museum. I've got some of my memory back, but there are still a lot of holes. I don't remember anything before I got this." He gestured with his metal arm, and Steve nodded, glad Bucky brought it up. "I don't remember much about it except these flashes of pain and fear… I think I had lost part of my arm, maybe in the fall, and they – HYDRA surgeons, or more like butchers – they cut the rest of it off to fit me with this mess of metal. The infrastructure is actually fused with my bones. Oh, and I'm pretty sure there was no anesthetic."

"Jesus Christ," Steve muttered.

"There was this scientist with an accent who did all these experiments on me." Bucky shuddered visibly. "I think he was German, or maybe Austrian. Zora? Zura... something like that."

"Zola," Steve said, his blood running cold. "Arnim Zola. He was Swiss."

Bucky's eyebrows arched toward the ceiling. "You knew him?"

"Oh, I knew him. That fucking bastard was the reason we were on that train in the first place." Steve clenched his fists. "We were trying to capture him when you fell."

"Oh." Bucky paused for a moment, considering. "Well, he pumped me full of all these weird solutions and serums. I don't know what he was trying to do, but it turned out whatever he did gave me crazy strength and endurance, rapid healing, a bunch of stuff. Kind of like what I read they did to you. Only they also kept me doped up so I'd be docile, and they kept me locked in a tiny room with speakers that played this voice recording day and night. I guess they were brainwashing me. They trained me to be subservient first, and once they had me under their control, they trained me to be their pet killer. Their living weapon.

"They kept me in cryogenic suspension between missions. I remember every time I woke up how hard I wanted to fight against it. I didn't want to come out of it. I wanted to stay dead." Bucky's eyes were glassy as he stared unseeingly into the fire. "Because I knew what they'd make me do. They thawed me out, hosed me down, stuck IV needles into me," he said, turning to look at Steve. "They pumped God knows what kind of drugs into me. When I was ready, they'd dress me in tactical gear, hand me a bunch of weapons, brief me on the mission, and turn me loose. When I came back from each mission, they flooded me with more drugs and wiped my memory by sending God knows how many volts of electricity through my head.

"I killed a lot of people, Steve."

Steve nodded, silent but doing his best to project sympathy when all he wanted to do was hunt down those responsible and turn them inside out.

"I killed politicians, diplomats, ambassadors," Bucky continued, grimacing. "I killed revolutionaries and dissenters. Whoever my handlers wanted dead in the name of HYDRA, they sent me to do it. And I did. I wasn't in control of my own mind, but I remember a lot of it. I remember shooting armed guards to get to the target. I killed about twenty people at an underground meeting once, just because HYDRA wanted one guy dead. I–" Bucky stopped, blinking hard and fast. When he continued, his voice was thick with tears. "I killed families. Innocent wives, husbands, children. I shot people, stabbed them, slit their throats, broke their necks. I threw a few off buildings and bridges. I set a guy on fire once."

A tear rolled down his cheek, and Steve leaned toward him. "Buck, you don't have to talk about it."

"Yes, I do," Bucky insisted. "I did it. All that blood is on my hands. They made me a monster."

Carefully, Steve asked, "How'd you get away from them?"

"Take a guess." Bucky laughed, but the sound was without mirth. "I killed them. My handlers. You wanna know why?"

Frowning, Steve nodded.

"Whenever they assigned me a mission, they gave me a whole dossier on the person. Everything was in there, home addresses, criminal records, all the way down to copies of birth certificates and Social Security cards. And there were photos of each one so I knew who I was looking for." Bucky closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch. "The last mission they assigned me was last year. They wanted it carried out on July fourth."

Steve gave an involuntary twitch. His birthday.

"I didn't recognize the name when they handed me the file," Bucky said, "but when I saw the photo of the target, I thought my brain was cracking right down the middle. So many memories hit me at once, I thought I was having a stroke or an aneurysm."

"Whoa." Steve felt like throwing up. "Do you know why that one affected you so much?"

"Steve," Bucky said, giving him a sidelong look, "you were the target."

** 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve stayed where he was while Bucky made two more circuits of the apartment, but the next time he slunk past Steve's bedroom, Steve sat up. "Buck?"
> 
> Freezing in place, Bucky replied with a cautious, "Yeah?"
> 
> "What're you doing?"

"I'm not taking your bed," Bucky insisted. "Honestly, I'm  _fine_  with the couch." 

Steve huffed, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not gonna win this, am I?"

"Nope. If there's one person on Earth who can match you on stubbornness, it's me, punk." Bucky looked as surprised as Steve felt when that came out of his mouth. "That just came back to me," he said with an astonished shrug. "I don't know  _why_  I know you're stubborn as a mule, but I do."

"It's a start. And it's not untrue." Steve paused, hands on the hips of his sweatpants, smiling down at Bucky where he sat on the couch. "I gotta say it. It is  _so fucking good_  to see you sitting there. You know that?"

Bucky chuckled. "Not as good as it feels to  _be_  here."

Aghast to find himself blushing, Steve scrambled to find a spare blanket, finally locating one at the back of his bedroom closet. The red chunky knit afghan had been made for him as a gift for his first Christmas out of the ice by Natasha Romanoff, his friend and colleague – if a team of scientifically enhanced individuals, demigods, and trained assassins could be called colleagues, that was – during her short-lived knitting phase. Snatching one of the pillows off his bed, Steve returned to the living room and passed the bedding to Bucky.

"Thanks," Bucky said, meeting and holding Steve's gaze. "See you in the morning, huh?"

"You better." Nearly vibrating with the unnamed tension in the air, Steve claps Bucky's right shoulder and grins. "Night, Buck."

"Night, Steve."

Steve lay awake in bed for a long time, straining to hear Bucky's breathing, his movements – anything that would prove to Steve he was real, that Steve wasn't hallucinating. It wouldn't surprise Steve if he had finally cracked and was seeing and hearing things; after all the stress he had encountered in the last two years, it probably wouldn't surprise anyone. Awakening in a new century when nearly everyone he knew was dead was terrifying, and he hadn’t adjusted well. Outwardly, he projected the image of a man as strong inside as he was out, but when he was alone – and he was really,  _really_  alone – he mourned his myriad losses, shedding countless tears for the life he left behind.

He must have drifted off, because he snapped awake, disoriented, and raised himself on his elbows, listening. Someone was creeping around the apartment. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, but the same instant, he remembered his unexpected houseguest and relaxed somewhat, his chest cavity swelling and warming as if filled with sunshine.  _Bucky's here_ , he thought, grinning helplessly.  _He's alive, and he's_  here.

Steve remained perfectly still, listening to the quiet footfalls – barefoot, from the sound of it – as the nearly silent figure he assumed was Bucky padded down the hallway to the front door, paused for several seconds, then turned and crept back toward the main room. Through the open archway between the bedroom and the living room, Steve watched his shadow move across the darkened room, past the barely glowing embers in the fireplace to the windows in the corner overlooking Hillyer Place and Connecticut Ave; the venetian blinds rustled slightly as Bucky peered through them each in turn. The upper floors of the building boasted a narrow rotunda at the northeast corner, creating a tiny, circular nook with windows on either side, and Bucky slipped into the small space, where Steve temporarily lost sight of him. Within moments, he reappeared and continued toward the other side of the room, presumably to peek out the windows facing east.

Steve stayed where he was while Bucky made two more circuits of the apartment, but the next time he slunk past Steve's bedroom, Steve sat up. "Buck?"

Freezing in place, Bucky replied with a cautious, "Yeah?"

"What're you doing?"

Bucky made a noncommittal noise and shifted in place.

Reaching for the nightstand, Steve fumbled in the dark until he found the pull chain for his bedside lamp. The mellow light it threw extended outside the bedroom doorway, but where Bucky stood, it illuminated only his toes. "C'mere," Steve said, sitting up, and Bucky shuffled into the bedroom with his metal arm crossed over his stomach and his flesh arm hanging by his side; in his hand was a black handgun Steve recognized from working side by side in battle with Nat as a Russian model called the Makarov. "What's going on, pal?" Steve asked, eyeing the pistol, and Bucky looked at the floor, his face miserable.

"I couldn't sleep," Bucky explained, fidgeting on his feet.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Looked like you were patrolling the perimeter."

"Mmm." Bucky shrugged, still looking away.

"Does it help if I tell you the doors and windows are alarmed?" Steve asked, his voice gentle. "I set the system before we turned in."

Bucky huffed a silent laugh through his nose. "I know. This looks really stupid."

"No, it doesn't." Steve threw aside the covers and climbed out of bed, rubbing the side of Bucky's arm in a comforting gesture that finally lifted Bucky's eyes from the floor. "I get it," Steve said. "When I first came out of the ice, I didn't sleep for three days, I was on such high alert, and I was staying in a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe-house, for God's sake. When I moved here, I was a nervous wreck. The alarm system helped."

Bucky favored him with a small, wry, but impossibly sweet smile, and Steve found his vision drawn to Bucky's lips, their intoxicating redness and plush fullness and the charming, sexy way they curled upward at the corners...

Clearing his throat, Steve tore his eyes away and gestured toward the living room. "C'mon," he said, unimpressed by the slight wobble in his voice. "We can watch a movie or something."

Still smiling, Bucky nodded, and Steve's shoulders relaxed when Bucky returned the gun to his backpack and zipped it shut.

**

"Can I tell you something?" Bucky asked halfway through their movie of choice –  _Toy Story_ – as they slumped on the couch, each closer to the center than to either side, sharing the red blanket.

"'Course." Steve stifled a yawn. He could normally go a good while without sleep if he had to, but he was flat out exhausted, which probably had something to do with the major adrenaline buzz he’d had all evening.

"I, uh..." Bucky chewed his lip. "I didn't just happen to end up outside your building."

"Huh." Steve frowns, thoughtful. "I guess I would've probably thought to ask about that after a while, but it hadn't occurred to me at all yet. So... how  _did_  you end up here?"

"Once I escaped HYDRA, I had no idea where to go, so... your home address was in the file they gave me, and I  _knew_  you were important to me even if I didn't remember why," Bucky admitted, "so I figured Washington was as good a place as any. I hitched most of my way here–"

"Where did you start out from? Do you know where they were keeping you?"

"I had no idea where I was at first," Bucky said with a snort. "The first ride I caught was from a guy driving an eighteen wheeler. He picked me up on the side of the road near the HYDRA base. I asked him where the nearest big city was, and he told me Detroit was about two hours south, so I guess I was in eastern Michigan, somewhere near the bottom of Lake Huron."

Steve nodded. "And you hitchhiked all the way here?"

"Mostly." Bucky looked sheepish. "I sort of... stole a car for the last leg of the trip."

"Borrowed," Steve's response was automatic, and they both laughed.

"Once I got to D.C., I ended up at a homeless shelter called the Webster House," Bucky continued. "Although they called it 'transitional housing.'"

"There's a politically correct name for everything now," Steve murmured.

"So I've noticed. Anyhow, it wasn't just a shelter; they help guys with addiction problems, and by the time I got here, I fit the bill. I was in withdrawal from whatever HYDRA had me on.  _Bad._ " Bucky grimaced. "I was white as a sheet, throwing up, shaking. Within a few days, I was so depressed and anxious, I couldn't get out of bed."

"Aw, Buck," Steve breathed.

Bucky gave him a half-smile and continued. "I'm better now, mostly. The depression is pretty much gone, and the anxiety's a lot better. Um, obviously not  _all_  better, but at least I'm not having panic attacks anymore."

Steve had been through war; he knew how it felt to kill someone. Before that moment, however, he had never  _craved_  the feeling of tearing a man limb from limb, but if one of Bucky's HYDRA captors had shown up at the door at that moment, a professional crime scene cleaning crew would be necessary.

"I do still have a hard time sleeping," Bucky said, "and the nightmares..." He shuddered. "Anyhow, they helped me through the worst of it, and once I was healthy enough, I left. It didn't feel right taking up a bed they could give to someone who really needed it."

You _needed it_ , Steve thought, but he let Bucky continue.

"That's when I started looking for you. The first time I saw you was about three weeks ago," Bucky said, meeting Steve's eyes, and Steve was unable to look away. "The way I felt just  _seeing_  you scared me. I followed you some, especially at first, until I was sure you were going to keep coming back. Every time I caught sight of you, I felt this pull, this connection, almost like..." He looked away. "Like coming back to you was...  _home_. Does that make sense?"

Struck dumb, Steve nodded, open-mouthed.

"Steve," Bucky said, moving closer to him on the couch and laying his head on Steve's shoulder, "I just want to remember  _us_."

His heart pounding, Steve forced himself to breathe evenly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You will, Buck," he whispered, resting his cheek against the top of Bucky's head and closing his eyes against the burn of tears. "You will."

**

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey," came a soft, hoarse voice from directly behind Steve as he flipped some pancakes on the griddle and poked at the bacon sizzling in the nearby frying pan, and he turned around to find Bucky standing there, his hair mussed, eyelids heavy, cheeks pink with sleepy warmth.
> 
> He was breathtaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today (3 and 4)!

When Steve awakened, it took him a moment to reconcile his surroundings; he was on the couch, slumped backward but sitting mostly upright. He knew it was morning, and he hadn't passed the night in his bed. A warm, heavy weight in his lap drew his attention downward and instantly clarified the situation. Bucky lay on his side facing the back of the couch with the red blanket tucked around him and his head resting in Steve's lap, and Steve chuckled a little at the sight of him with his hair strewn every which way and his lips pooched out from the way his cheek was squashed against Steve's thigh.

God, but those lips looked kissable.

They finally fell asleep around four in the morning.  _Toy Story_ had ended, and they spent a little while discussing it in all seriousness like the grown men they were, while the DVD menu sequence repeated on the TV screen until they couldn't stand the noise any further and switched it off. Steve didn't even remember how they came to fall asleep the way they had, but he was one hundred percent on board with the idea of waking up with Bucky snuggled up to him any day. Preferably every day.

 _I love you_ , Steve mouthed, kissing his fingertips and smoothing Bucky's hair back from his forehead with the same fingers. Bucky never needed to know, but at least it meant something to Steve.

He managed to ease out from under Bucky's head, replacing his thigh with a throw pillow without waking Bucky, which spoke volumes about how exhausted he must be; after working with Natasha and Clint Barton, another highly trained spy and assassin as well as a friend and fellow Avenger, Steve knew it was nearly impossible to move an inch in the same room as a sleeping assassin without said assassin snapping awake and, more often than not, pointing a weapon at the hapless offender. Bucky didn't even stir as Steve extricated himself with great reluctance from the couch.

Giving Bucky one last affectionate glance, Steve started a pot of coffee, retrieved his laptop, and set up at the dining room table with an agenda in mind. With some help from Tony Stark – who had given him the laptop, which, of course, was emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo – Steve had become fairly comfortable browsing the internet. He was constantly amazed how useful and clever Google was; no matter what question popped into his mind, he could find an answer by merely typing it into a little box.

First, he navigated to the website for the Webster House, where he made a sizeable, anonymous online donation. They had cared for Bucky, helped him recover from his trauma and addiction, and kept him safe when Steve couldn't, and for that, he felt a ten thousand dollar endowment was the least he could do.

Listed as officially missing in action since 1945, Steve had accrued sixty-six years of military back pay while entombed in a glacier, which just increased the total of an obscene amount of money that the government seemed more than happy to hand over to him when he rejoined the living. Steve accepted the money, but he rarely used it, preferring instead to live off his S.H.I.E.L.D. wages; the only exception was in an emergency or when spending it would benefit someone he cared about.

And he cared about no one more than he cared about Bucky.

Steve craned his neck as he peered toward the couch, but so far, there was no sign of life, so he moved onto the second item on his self-imposed schedule. Next to Google, Amazon was the website that most enthralled Steve; the idea of being able to shop for anything he could think of in one place was hard to believe, even now. Better yet was having every item delivered directly to his building, and within two days, even; at Nat's suggestion, he had signed up for a Prime membership and had never regretted it for a second.

When he realized he had forgotten something, Steve eased his chair back from the table. He tiptoed past the couch – still no sign that Bucky was anywhere near awake; he was even snoring softly – and dug Bucky's clothes out of the laundry basket in his bedroom, taking note of the sizes before returning to the laptop. Twenty minutes later, Steve's virtual shopping cart was full of jeans, sweatpants, t-shirts, henleys, boxer briefs, socks, a winter jacket, and footwear. He had no idea what Bucky's style would be now; surely he wouldn't dress the way they did back in the thirties and forties, and Steve strongly suspected Bucky wouldn't be the pressed-khakis type, so he hoped his choices would be appropriate.

Steve didn't even flinch at the final cost, pressing submit with a smile.

The final stop on Steve's online adventure was the website for his mobile carrier, where he added a phone line to his plan and ordered the newest model iPhone with all the bells and whistles, as well as a shockproof, waterproof case to go with it.

Downing the rest of his coffee, Steve put the mug in the dishwasher before heading in for a shower. Once he was clean, groomed, and dressed, he checked on Bucky again – still out like a light and somehow looking like both an angel and sex on legs. He scrawled a quick  _Be back soon; went to the store_  on a notepad he left in a conspicuous spot on the table and slipped out of the apartment, setting the alarm, grabbing his stack of reusable grocery bags, and tugging his baseball cap onto his head on his way out the door.

It was a six minute walk to the Metro Supermarket a few blocks from his building, five minutes if he hustled, and hustle he did, unwilling to leave Bucky alone any longer than was absolutely necessary. He zipped through the aisles with his shopping cart, a man on a mission, grateful for the lack of a crowd on weekday mornings; not only could he move more quickly, but he also had less of a chance of being recognized and further held up by autograph seekers and fans with cameras. It still made him blush thinking that way, but it was a reality he'd grown used to.

Steve filled his grocery cart with a variety of ingredients to create meals Bucky would remember from their much younger years; by the time he got to the candy aisle, the basket was already piled with meats, fruit, vegetables, flour, sugar, oatmeal, peanut butter, jelly, Wonder bread, Kool-Aid packets, canned soup, animal crackers, chocolate chip cookies, milk, Coca-Cola, and Yoo-Hoo, among other sundries. In the candy aisle, he couldn't decide on a few, so he had to reorganize the cart to make room for many of Bucky's favorites. Bucky had always had a sweet tooth, and since some of the sweets he favored back in the twenties and thirties were still on the market, Steve had every intention of indulging him. Into the cart went bags, packages, and theater-style candy boxes containing Baby Ruth, Milky Way, Reese's Cups, lollipops, candy sticks, gummy bears, taffy chews, tootsie rolls, licorice, and bubble gum.

Approaching the front of the store, Steve briefly considered going through self-checkout to avoid face to face contact, but those machines intimidated him, and besides, he never made it through the experience without an attendant having to assist him at least twice anyway, so he piled his purchases onto the conveyor belt of a register manned by an attractive but bored-looking woman in her forties. As she rang him up, she kept up a steady stream of chatter, requiring nothing from him other than a polite "mm-hmm" or "really?" or "wow" from time to time to indicate he was paying attention, which he really wasn't but hoped he faked well. He paid with his debit card – another miracle of the modern world, in his opinion – and, sliding the straps of the reusable grocery bags onto both arms, he gave the cashier a smile and thanked her before hurrying out of the store and toward home.

His heart was pounding when he reached the door to his apartment, though not from exertion; the mere thought that James Buchanan Barnes – beloved, precious, beautiful, and  _alive_  – was on the other side of the door had him grinning and quivering like an overexcited puppy as he unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code.

Hoisting the grocery bags onto the counter, Steve took a peek into the living room to find Bucky still sleeping, his face utterly peaceful and his chest moving slowly up and down beneath the afghan. Steve sighed, the most satisfied sound he thought he may have ever made, and returned to the kitchen to brew another pot of coffee and put away the groceries before starting breakfast.

"Hey," came a soft, hoarse voice from directly behind Steve as he flipped some pancakes on the griddle and poked at the bacon sizzling in the nearby frying pan, and he turned around to find Bucky standing there, his hair mussed, eyelids heavy, cheeks pink with sleepy warmth.

He was breathtaking.

Before Steve could reply, Bucky stepped into his space and wrapped his arms around Steve's middle, pressing his cheek against Steve's shoulder.

"Hey yourself," Steve managed, hoping Bucky couldn't hear his rabbit-like pulse thumping away. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Better than I have in probably seventy years," Bucky mumbled. His hair tickled Steve's neck, but Steve wouldn't trade the sensation for the world. "What're you doin'?"

"Making you breakfast." Steve flipped the rest of the pancakes with one hand, the other arm wrapped securely around Bucky. If he could get away with never letting go, he would gladly stay exactly the way they were for all eternity. Bucky's thick, muscular frame was warm through their clothes, his body both impressively hard and intriguingly soft at once. Steve had to concentrate to suppress any physical signs of his painfully strong attraction, lest he scare him away with an ill-timed erection or an involuntary groan of pleasure at having this exact man in his arms.

Bucky nestled closer with a contented sigh. "I didn't know it till I saw your picture in that file, but I missed you, Stevie. You know that?"

Steve's throat constricted, and he drew a shaky breath. "You used to call me that when we were kids; remember?"

"Mm-hmm. I do." Bucky chuckled against Steve's shoulder. "I'm getting bits and pieces at a time, but at least I'm starting to remember some things."

"Well, I hope you remember how to eat, 'cause I made enough pancakes and bacon to feed the whole building."

"That's one thing I'll never forget," Bucky said solemnly without raising his head, "as long as you keep feeding me like this."

 _For the rest of my life if you'll let me_ , Steve thought, squeezing Bucky just a little tighter and wishing he had the nerve to say it out loud.

**

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky pulled away, his face flushed, and took a deep breath. "Um," he said, blinking slowly a few times as if dazed, "I better, uh… d'you mind if I take a shower?"
> 
> Clearing his throat, Steve shook his head. "You don't have to ask. This is your home, too." _Oh, shit. Was that too much?_ he thought, vaguely panicked until a slow smile spread across Bucky's face.
> 
> "My home's wherever you are," Bucky said, backing up a few steps with his eyes locked on Steve's before licking his lips and turning away.

After they had cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, Steve lured Bucky over to the pantry, beckoning with one finger. "C'mere, Buck."

"Should I be scared?" Bucky asked, smirking, as he followed Steve to the corner of the kitchen.

"Nope. Close your eyes."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him but surrendered at the pleading expression on Steve's face. "I can't deny that puppy-dog look," Bucky groaned, covering his eyes with both hands, and Steve grinned.

"I know. That's why I've always used it on you."

"I wish I could remember that," Bucky said wistfully. "I bet it worked in all kinds of ways."

Steve turned to the pantry, thankful Bucky's eyes were covered so he couldn't see the redness of Steve's face. "Ready?"

"Born ready, sweetheart."

Steve yanked open the cabinet doors and stood aside. "Ta-da!"

Snickering, Bucky uncovered his eyes, and Steve watched him as his eyes took in the shelves all but overflowing with candy, cookies, and treats. "What… did you…"

"I thought you probably hadn't had these in a long while," Steve said with a shrug, "and I wasn't sure which you'd want first, so I got a bunch of 'em."

Speechless, Bucky stared at him for a second before looking back at the pantry. "I'll say. I…" He trailed off, shaking his head and stepping closer to Steve. "Thank you," Bucky said, eyes wide and earnest. "For breakfast, and for letting me stay here, and for all this—" He gestured broadly, indicating the pantry and the entire kitchen. "Thank you for  _everything_. You're too good to me."

"Buck, I'd do anything for you. You gotta know that. It's always been true."

Bucky smiled, casting his eyes downward. "I'm so glad I found you."

Aching to turn the moment into much more than it was, Steve instead shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm glad you did, too. I've got the team, and I consider them all friends, but… I've been so lonely without you."

Bucky moved closer, wrapping his arms around Steve again, and Steve's breath hitched, although he tried to hide it as he returned the embrace, holding Bucky close.

"Once I thought you were gone, I didn't last very long, either," Steve confessed, itching to press his lips against the side of Bucky's head. He smelled fantastic, a ghost of Steve's soap but mostly just Bucky himself. "There's nobody in the world I care about more than you, pal."

"We both survived for a reason. This is our second chance, Steve." Bucky's fingertips plucked listlessly at the back of Steve's shirt, pushing the hem upward, and his flesh hand slid across the exposed skin of Steve's lower back. Swallowing hard, Steve suppressed a gasp, willing himself to remain still, although the crotch of his jeans felt far too tight within the space of seconds. He couldn't let on how much he craved Bucky's touch, how he had imagined since he was a teenager how Bucky's hands would feel roaming his body… how his lips would taste… what sounds he would make if Steve were ever allowed to do to him the things that filled Steve's feverish mind in the dark of night.

Bucky pulled away, his face flushed, and took a deep breath. "Um," he said, blinking slowly a few times as if dazed, "I better, uh… d'you mind if I take a shower?"

Clearing his throat, Steve shook his head. "You don't have to ask. This is your home, too."  _Oh, shit. Was that too much?_  he thought, vaguely panicked until a slow smile spread across Bucky's face.

"My home's wherever you are," Bucky said, backing up a few steps with his eyes locked on Steve's before licking his lips and turning away. When Bucky closed himself into the bathroom, Steve snapped his gaping mouth shut and all but ran for the bedroom, waiting just seconds to hear the water start before wrestling out of his shirt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, and stretching out on the bed.

 _What_ was _that? What did it mean?_  his mind hissed at him, but he tuned it out, shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down to mid-thigh. Spitting into his palm, Steve took his swollen, aching cock in his hand; he barely bit back the moan that threatened to escape, clenching his teeth as he slid his tight fist from the base to the tip, grunting softly at the sharp, delicious sensation the movement evoked. He rolled his palm over the head, spreading the wetness, and started stroking himself hard and fast; if he didn't come before Bucky finished in the shower, his already challenging predicament would become exponentially worse.

"Fuck," Steve breathed, tipping his head back and letting the rhythmic movement of his hand take over. The slick sound of his fist pumping his dick sent sparks of excitement zinging through his bloodstream, and the tight channel his fingers formed was just warm and wet enough to allow him to imagine it was something else, something better, somewhere he would much rather be.

Whimpering softly, Steve jerked harder still, growing more and more desperate as the seconds stretched into minutes; he was sure Bucky would be done with his shower any moment, and he  _needed_  to finish before Bucky emerged, because the case of blue balls he would otherwise sport for the rest of the afternoon might actually kill him. Reaching lower with his free hand, Steve cupped his balls while his other hand tugged frantically at his throbbing cock, pulling himself closer to the edge with every stroke. A low moan slipped from his throat as the muscles in his pelvis and abdomen tightened, his hips jerking upward as he fucked into his fist, his movements uninhibited as his climax exploded through him, leaving him spent and panting.

Moments later, the sound of the shower running stopped, and Steve grabbed his discarded t-shirt, wiping away the thin layer of sweat on his face and taking a few quick swipes at his chest and belly to rid them of the evidence of his recent orgasm. He pulled up and fastened his pants, and he was just yanking on a fresh t-shirt when he heard the bathroom door open; he turned to face the bedroom doorway just as Bucky appeared in it.

Barefoot.

Shirtless.

Wearing nothing but the towel tied around his waist.

Steve very nearly choked on his own tongue but managed to get it together at the last second. Bucky was even leaner and harder than he appeared while dressed. They had lived together for several years as young men, splitting the rent on a cheap flat in Brooklyn, so Steve knew Bucky was always well-built, sturdy, and muscular, but he used to look softer, somehow; now, he could have been chiseled from stone. His chest and stomach were beautifully defined, his legs strong and thick, but the most glaring difference was the metal arm; Steve hadn't realized how deeply it was integrated into Bucky's body, but without a shirt in the way, it was all too obvious. The arm went all the way up; even Bucky's shoulder had been replaced. There was a thick ridge of scar tissue where the metal had somehow been fused with Bucky's flesh, and Steve's heart ached at the thought of what Bucky had gone through.

"Hey, pal – got something I can wear?" Bucky asked, then cracked a wicked grin. "Unless you'd rather I walked around the place naked."

Laughing weakly, Steve left that one alone and turned back to his dresser to fish out another t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for Bucky. Bucky accepted the socks Steve handed him but waved a dismissive hand at the underwear.

"I'd rather go without," he admitted with a wink before disappearing down the hallway again, and Steve released a long, heavy breath as he sank onto the end of the bed and held his head in his hands. Now his main challenge was to spend the afternoon trying not to stare at Bucky's crotch in those loose-fitting pants.

He had probably met his match, at that.

**

" _Steve_!"

Snapping awake and sitting bolt upright in the same instant, Steve nearly launched himself out of bed, but before he had time, Bucky was already standing beside his bed. Switching on the lamp, Steve blinked against the intrusion of the light and reached for Bucky's wrist.

"Buck? What's wrong?"

Bucky's wide, horrified eyes snapping to Steve's, he allowed Steve to tug him forward until he sat on the edge of the bed, promptly collapsing into Steve's arms. "Shit, fuck,  _goddammit_ ," Bucky hissed, burying his face in Steve's neck, his breathing heavy and rough.

"Nightmare?" Steve asked, stroking his back despite the awkward position with Bucky hunched over, twisted and shivering.

Bucky nodded, his hair rustling against Steve's ear. "Bad one."

Rubbing soothing circles into Bucky's back, Steve focused on keeping his own breathing slow and regular the way Bucky himself used to do when helping Steve through one of his frequent asthma attacks. "Want to talk about it?"

"I…" Bucky gave a violent tremor, and Steve released him only to scoot over in bed, patting the spot where he had lain.

"Climb in," Steve said, knowing it was a stupid,  _terrible_ idea but unable to resist once it arose in his brain.

Bucky gave him a grateful look and slid his legs beneath the covers, allowing Steve to pull the blankets up to his t-shirt clad shoulders. Rolling onto his side, Steve propped himself on his elbow. "You don't have to talk about it if—"

"All I remember is someone was trying to hurt you, trying to take you away from me." Bucky closed his eyes, his brow pinched, and Steve wanted to reach down and smooth it with his fingertips. "You were fighting so hard, but they kept getting to you, punching you and stabbing you and shooting at you. You were black and blue; your face was all swollen and bloody, and then…" He trailed off, his eyes squeezing tighter shut. "They aimed a gun at your temple and were about to pull the trigger, and I guess that's when I screamed myself awake. I'm sorry; sometimes it—"

"Hey." Steve palmed the side of Bucky's head, and Bucky opened his eyes, revealing dampness glistening along their lower rims. "Everything's okay. I'm here, and we're both safe. See?"

Bucky nodded slowly, his hand moving to grip Steve's bicep. "Yeah. I just… the thought of losing you now…"

"I'm not going anywhere." Steve reached over to flick off the lamp and sank back down on the bed, and Bucky immediately rolled over, attaching himself to Steve's side with one arm thrown over his abdomen and one leg hooked over Steve's. It was an intimate but strangely comforting sensation, inspiring Steve to turn his head and press his lips to Bucky's forehead.

"We used to do this," Bucky whispered into the darkness, his breath warm against Steve's throat. "When you were a lot smaller and we lived together in that drafty little place. Right? You got cold so easy, and you were always sick, so I always held you in the winter to keep you warm."

"Yeah, you did." Steve smiled, relishing the memory. "I always slept better with you right there."

"Mmm." Bucky was growing drowsy again already; Steve could tell by the renewed weight of his limbs. "I still don't remember much about us from back then."

"You will. I'll help you."

"'Kay." Bucky yawned. "Just don't tell me anything I haven't already remembered. I wanna remember for myself before we..." The rest of his sentence trailed off in a few nonsense syllables and ended with a mild snore. Wondering what he was going to say, Steve lay awake for a while longer until Bucky's warmth and solidity and presence lulled him to sleep.

**

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's heart gave another lurch at the way Bucky's eyes darkened as Bucky stared down at him, his tongue flicking out to wet his upper lip. "My guess," Bucky continued, his voice low, raspy, and dripping sensuality, "is I could try pretty much anything right now, and you'd let me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another two-chapter day (5 & 6)!

When the door buzzer went off the next morning, Bucky nearly hit the ceiling.

"It's okay," Steve said, reaching for Bucky where he cowered in the corner of the couch. He eyed Steve's hand for a moment before taking a steadying breath and allowing Steve to take his hand and give it a comforting squeeze. "It's probably just the mail. I'll go check." He handed Bucky the tablet on which Steve had been giving him an introductory lesson on using the internet. "Here – keep scrolling until you find something interesting. I'll be right back."

Bucky smiled and turned his attention back to the tablet, and Steve's heart lurched as he turned away to answer the buzzer. It didn't matter how many times that smile was directed at him; it had always had the same effect on him.

A few minutes later, after hurrying downstairs to sign the UPS driver's electronic device, Steve returned with a small box in his hand and a grin on his face. "What do you know, Buck? It's for you!"

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky set aside Steve's tablet and caught the box when Steve tossed it to him. "I know  _I_ didn't order anything," he said dryly, "so unless it's a bomb, I'm guessing this is your doing."

"No bombs; I promise." Steve flopped onto the couch next to Bucky. "Open it!"

"All right, all right." Bucky pulled the strip of tape holding the box closed and dug another, smaller box out, examining it for a moment before his jaw dropped and his brow crinkled in concern. "Steve!"

"Yeah," Steve affirmed, laughing a little. "It's what it looks like."

" _Why_?" Bucky thrust the small, white iPhone box at him, and Steve pushed it back into Bucky's space.

"Because you might need to get ahold of me when I leave the apartment, or whatever."

" _Steve_."

Steve grinned. " _Bucky_."

"It's too much."

"It's not!" Steve insisted. "And you know damn well you're not going to change my mind, anyway."

" _Ugh_ ," Bucky huffed, setting both boxes aside and turning back to Steve, who didn't notice the glint in his eye until Bucky had already tackled him to the floor, both of them braying laughter as they rolled over and over, wrestling for the upper hand.

"Don't even... try it," Steve gritted out from astride Bucky's waist, leaning over him to pin his wrists to the floor.

"Try what?" Bucky shot back, giving a sharp upward jolt with his hips and taking advantage of Steve's skewed balance to flip him onto his back, pinning Steve's thighs to the floor with most of his weight while holding Steve's wrists the same way Steve had just restrained him. The position brought their faces mere inches apart, and Steve's heart gave another lurch at the way Bucky's eyes darkened as Bucky stared down at him, his tongue flicking out to wet his upper lip. "My guess," Bucky continued, his voice low, raspy, and dripping sensuality, "is I could try pretty much anything right now, and you'd let me."

A low whine escaped Steve's throat as Bucky shifted his weight, sliding one thigh between Steve's and rocking forward, his weight creating delicious friction against Steve's rapidly swelling cock. Bucky smiled at the involuntary response, releasing Steve's wrists to run his flesh fingers through Steve's tousled hair. "Couldn't I, Stevie?"

Steve didn't answer, but when Bucky leaned down and drew the tip of his tongue up the side of Steve's neck, he tipped his head, leaving Bucky's path wide open. Bucky's breath blew hot against Steve's ear, and Steve was a microsecond away from flipping Bucky onto his back and dry humping him into the floor when the door buzzer sounded again. Bucky jumped a little and growled in frustration, pulling back to stare down at Steve, his eyes clearing as he did. "Shit," Bucky muttered, disappointment crossing his face but followed closely by a wistful smile. "Go get it. It's probably better we don't do this, anyway."

 _No, it's not!_  Steve wanted to shout.  _Ignore the buzzer; let's see where this goes!_  Instead, he watched Bucky crawl off his lap and offer him a hand, which he took and allowed Bucky to pull him to a sitting position. They rose to their feet facing each other, and Bucky took Steve by the shoulder and turned him in the direction of the door, giving him a light push.

"Go ahead," Bucky said, chuckling, and smacked Steve's ass. It was enough to spur Steve into moving, his head spinning as he answered the buzzer again. This time, it was the mail carrier, and Steve thanked her profusely as she transferred two large Amazon boxes from the back of her truck into his arms. He carried them up the stairs with almost no effort, the whole way wracking his mind for a reason Bucky would've behaved the way he did, but he reached his floor well before anything even remotely plausible could come to him.

"What the hell is all  _that_?" Bucky asked from the couch as Steve set both boxes on the floor, and Steve shrugged.

"I don't know. Guess you'll have to open it and find out. But—"

"I know, I know." Bucky sighed, standing to wrap his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice soft and somber. "I know that wasn't fair. I  _have_  to remember everything first, otherwise I'll be doing things for the wrong reasons. I'm just... weak, you know?"

Steve did not know. He had no idea what Bucky was talking about, and he didn't know how to ask him to explain without ripping open his own chest and presenting his innermost thoughts and desires to Bucky, who clearly wasn't ready for that. Instead, Steve only nodded, holding Bucky tightly, and murmured, "It's okay."

When they withdrew, rather than let the awkwardness of the moment continue, Steve gestured to the boxes on the floor. "So, you gonna open these, or what?"

Bucky gave him a look. "What did you do now?"

Shrugging, Steve merely grinned, and Bucky shook his head and dragged the boxes over to the couch to open them. Moments later, he was surrounded by various clothing items, staring at Steve with a stricken expression on his fine-featured face.

"Do you like them?" Steve asked, feeling silly for being anxious.

"It's not... of  _course_  I like them. That's not –  _Steve_..."

"You have one change of clothes," Steve said reasonably, "one pair of boots, and no jacket to speak of. You need stuff; I got you stuff."

"You got me  _way_  too much stuff." Bucky's eyes ate up his face. "I'm afraid to ask what you spent on—"

"Then don't." Steve sat next to him, bumping into Bucky's arm with his own. "If I couldn't afford it, I wouldn't do it. Or at least, not as much." Steve blushed. "I wanted to do it, Buck. It makes me happy to have you here to buy stuff for, and to have the money now to be able to do it. It's not like the old days when we had to fix the holes in our socks or go without."

Bucky sat quietly for a moment, then sighed. "I get it, I just – it doesn't feel right. I show up on your doorstep with nothing to offer, and you—"

"Nothing to offer?" Steve laughed in disbelief. "Bucky, since they dug me out of that plane, I've been living like I was still dead. I had nothing and no one, and no matter what I did, no matter how important the things were that I signed up to do, no matter who I made friends with – none of it made a difference. I had nightmares about watching you fall. I blamed myself every hour of every day for not saving you. I regretted the things I never said to you." Steve choked on those words, and Bucky leaned against him. "I thought I'd never see you again, let alone trip over you right outside my door. This is –  _you are_  – the best thing that's happened to me, maybe  _ever_. So don't ever tell me you have nothing to offer," he managed, gritting his teeth against the tears that threatened. "You mean  _everything_  to me."

"Fuck," Bucky muttered, his voice hoarse and broken, turning and pulling Steve into his arms. "I love you so goddamn much, punk, you know that?"

"I love you too," Steve whispered, his face buried in Bucky's shoulder and his hands fisted in the back of his shirt as if he could hold Bucky there forever if he only gripped tightly enough. Maybe he could.

**

After dinner that evening, they curled up on the couch, once again sharing the red blanket, to watch TV, settling on Animal Planet because it was at least educational, unlike most of the program offerings. Partway through a documentary about silverback gorillas, Bucky made a strangled, indescribable noise and gripped the sides of his head, bending over with his elbows braced on his knees.

"Buck?" Steve asked with alarm, sitting up, but Bucky waved him off, trembling so hard Steve could feel it. Pressing the  _off_  button on the TV remote control, Steve waited, tense and frightened, until Bucky lifted his head and turned to him, his eyes wide, wet, and disbelieving.

"We  _weren't_?" Bucky asked, devastation breaking across his face as tears rolled down his cheeks. " _Never_?"

Steve frowned. "Weren't what?"

"I thought..." Bucky shook his head, grimacing as if in agony. "Steve... we weren't lovers?  _Ever_?"

"Oh," Steve breathed, swallowing hard, realization hitting him like a punch in the gut. "No, we... we didn't... we weren't..."

"God," Bucky choked, his face crumpling as he stood and strode to the window, bracing himself with a hand on the wall as he stared out into the darkness. "I'm –  _fuck_ , Steve, I'm sorry, I – I honestly thought—"

"Buck," Steve said, but Bucky walked past him, pausing at the mouth of the hallway and turning back, his hair falling over his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, and before Steve could even make it to his feet, before Steve was able to open his mouth to call after him, he was gone.

**

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two and a half hours. That was how long he’d driven up and down the streets, peering into every dark crevice and nook, his own pulse in his ears all but drowning out the roar of his motorcycle. Bucky was nowhere to be found, but Steve, though torn to pieces, was not exactly surprised. If Bucky didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be, and there wasn't a damn thing in the world Steve could do about it.

Steve vaulted the stairs to his apartment three at a time, passing his neighbor – a young, blonde nurse; if he remembered correctly, her name was Shari or maybe Sharon – on the stairs as she headed down with a laundry basket in her arms. He mumbled a hello but didn’t slow, digging his keys out of his pocket and letting himself inside the apartment with shaking hands. Once inside, he dropped the keys on one of the built-in shelves and slid to the floor with his back against the door, burying his face in his hands.

Two and a half hours. That was how long he’d driven up and down the streets, peering into every dark crevice and nook, his own pulse in his ears all but drowning out the roar of his motorcycle. Bucky was nowhere to be found, but Steve, though torn to pieces, was not exactly surprised. If Bucky didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be, and there wasn't a damn thing in the world Steve could do about it.

Digging his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his brown leather jacket, Steve tapped Bucky's name in his list of contacts, hoping against hope that Bucky had taken his new phone with him when he left. Instead, the phone rang from the direction of the dining room table, where they had left it to charge after setting it up that morning.

" _Fuck_!" Steve shouted, desperation fraying the edges of his voice, and punched the floor hard enough to crack the wood.  _What if he never comes back?_  he thought, tremors wracking his body. He dragged himself off the floor, hung his jacket, and kicked off his shoes.  _I won't survive losing him again. I_ can't _and I_ won't _._

Out of options and ideas, Steve stumbled into the living room to lie down on the couch, cocooned in the red knit blanket that smelled like Bucky, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and hoping he'd wake up to find Bucky had returned.

Instead, he didn't sleep at all. After a while, he arose from the couch and paced circles around the apartment. He made a cup of tea and forgot about it, returning to find it cold and murky with the tea bag still soaking in the water. He stared at his phone, considering who he could call for help if it came down to it; while any of his friends would help him, only two – Natasha and his new buddy, Sam Wilson, who just seemed to  _get_  him from the day they’d met – were near enough, skilled enough, and discreet enough to trust with the sensitive information regarding Bucky's years of mind control, his escape from HYDRA, and his current whereabouts.

He called no one.

Steve paced and fretted and raged and wept and paced some more throughout the remainder of the night, and when the sun came up, he changed into sweats, a zip-front hoodie, and sneakers and headed out for a run, hoping he might have more success finding traces of Bucky on foot than he did on his bike. He ran for miles, not stopping for hours, but found nothing, and by late morning, his sleepless night and strenuous workout had caught up with him. His hope dwindling, Steve returned to his apartment, shucked his sneakers and hoodie, and collapsed onto the couch, sweaty and exhausted, and fell immediately asleep.

It was afternoon when he awoke, disoriented by the lack of direct sun coming in the eastern-facing windows, and grimaced at the smell of his own dried sweat.  _Okay, first a shower,_  he promised himself,  _then food, then out looking for him some more. If I don't find him before dark, I'll call Nat or Sam._

A long shower rejuvenated him somewhat, and he threw on clean track pants and a t-shirt and set about pulling leftovers out of the fridge, spreading them out on the counter to assess what was still suitable to consume. He had just tossed the remains of last week's pot roast and a pair of decrepit baked potatoes entombed in foil when the buzzer sounded, startling him and causing him to drop the casserole dish that bore the last traces of the pot roast loudly into the sink.

"This better be good," Steve muttered as he hastened to answer the buzzer, expecting UPS or FedEx to be on the other end with another delivery.

The voice on the intercom, however, was far more welcome. "Steve?" It was Bucky.  _Thank God_. "Can we talk?"

"Jesus, Bucky," Steve huffed, relieved. " _Yes_ ; get the fuck up here."

Mashing the button to allow Bucky entrance to the building, Steve counted to ten, abandoned the buffet of cold leftovers on the kitchen counter, and flung open the door just in time to see Bucky rounding the corner at the top of the stairs. Steve charged him, wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist and hugging him so hard Bucky's feet left the floor for a moment.

"Please don't  _ever_  do that to me again," Steve hissed, burying his face in Bucky's shoulder.

Cupping the back of Steve's head, Bucky gave a short, teary laugh. "Are you kidding? If it gets me a reception like this, I'm gonna do it every day."

"Jerk." Steve pulled back, holding Bucky at arm's length, and scrutinized him. Besides a day's worth of stubble growth, he was unchanged and appeared unharmed, so Steve cuffed him lightly up the side of the head and threw an arm around his shoulders, steering him inside the apartment.

"What the hell were you doing in here?" Bucky asked, peeling off his ragged olive green jacket, as they entered the kitchen.

"Inventory," Steve replied, grabbing two plates from the cabinet and piling them both with food. "You hungry?"

"Starving." Bucky sat down on one of the stools by the counter and rested his chin in his palm, watching Steve put one plate into the microwave to heat. "Listen, Steve—"

Steve shook his head, coming up behind Bucky and wrapping both arms around him, reveling in the warmth generated where their bodies touched. "Eat first; talk later," he murmured, pressing his face into Bucky's hair. Bucky gave a shaky sigh, nodding, and brought both hands up to rest on Steve's forearms where they crossed in front of him.

"Okay."

When they had each put away a plate heaped with various leftovers, Steve started a fire while Bucky loaded the dishwasher and packed the rest of the food back into the refrigerator.

"So," Bucky said, joining Steve by the fireplace. "Can we talk now?"

Steve nodded, adding another log to the fire and sitting back to watch it.

"I fucked up," Bucky said simply, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. "I made assumptions that were way off, and I acted  _very_  inappropriately, and I'm really sorry."

"You haven't acted inappropriately once," Steve murmured.

Bucky snorted. "There's a spot on the floor about five feet from here that says otherwise."

Shaking his head, Steve said nothing.

"I didn't remember how we were before," Bucky continued, his words halting and uncertain. "All I knew was the way I felt about you – the way I  _feel_  about you made me think we must've been more than friends. I came onto you because I couldn't fucking help myself, but I wanted to remember everything first so we could pick up where we left off. I thought once I remembered that, all the pieces would fall into place, but they all fell apart instead. Everything came back to me at once last night, so fast and so hard I thought I was having a stroke."

"When you held your head."

"Yeah. It was overwhelming. And that's when I remembered…" Bucky swallowed, his eyes rimmed with red. "That's when I realized the way I felt was just the way  _I_  felt. Just because I always wanted more with you didn't mean I ever had it."

 _Is this real_? Steve wondered, his own head throbbing in time with the pounding of his heart.  _Am I dreaming_?

"So I'm sorry," Bucky said, rearranging himself so he was sitting up straight, cross-legged. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just that touching you like that felt so right, I thought it had to be familiar. I'll… try and put those feelings behind me."

"You better not," Steve said, his voice low and shaking, as he slid closer to Bucky and palmed his cheek, thrilling at the way Bucky's stormy eyes widened in surprise. "Because I've felt the same way about you my entire life, so don’t you dare tease me with it and then take it away. Buck," he said, his voice husky with emotion, "just because we never were doesn't mean we can't be now."

"Oh, Stevie," Bucky breathed, relief breaking across his face as he slid his fingers up Steve's forearm to cover Steve's hand where it warmed Bucky's cheek. "You – really?"

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone." Steve couldn't pull his eyes away from Bucky's if he tried, but he couldn't imagine a single reason on earth that would make him want to.

A huge grin spread across Bucky's face, and he threw himself into Steve's lap, tumbling them both onto the floor. "See?" he said, nosing lightly at Steve's cheek. "This  _is_  our second chance."

"Let's make it count," Steve said, sitting up with Bucky still in his lap, and Bucky threw his arms around Steve's neck to maintain his balance as Steve climbed to his feet, supporting Bucky's entire weight with his hands under Bucky's thighs, which were wrapped around Steve's hips.

"Jesus," Bucky gasped, his body shaking with laughter. "That's a fun trick. Take you long to learn that one?"

"Mmm, nah." Steve grinned at him an instant before dumping him onto the couch on his back. "How 'bout that one; you like that?"

Bucky reached out for him, and Steve crawled onto the couch beside him. There was just enough room with both of them on their sides that just the outer curve of Steve's ass hung off the edge, but he slung his arm over Bucky's waist for extra support. Laughing so hard it actually qualified as  _giggling_ , Bucky buried his face in the side of Steve's neck, clutching the front of Steve's shirt with the hand not awkwardly trapped beneath them. "I do like that one," he said when he caught his breath. "I got a few tricks I wouldn't mind showing you, too."

"We'll get to  _all_  your tricks," Steve said, his words laden with promise, "but I don't want to rush it, okay? I want to really  _experience_  everything."

"Okay," Bucky breathed, reverent fingers skimming through the hair at the top of Steve's head. "Anything you want, any way you want it."  

Steve's face warmed, a self-conscious smile twitching on his lips. "I, uh… you ever done anything like this before?"

"What, with a guy?" Bucky shook his head. "Nope. There was only ever one fella for me, and now I got him."

Could a man die of happiness? Steve had to wonder for a moment, because the joy swelling his chest was intense enough to border on pain. "Good." He laid a gentle kiss on the hinge of Bucky's jaw, and Bucky made a delicious sound that could only be described as purring. "I didn't want to be a  _total_ virgin all by myself."

Bucky chuckled, then paused and pulled back. "Wait. Do you mean you've…"

With a one-shouldered shrug, Steve willed his blush to remain at a vague glow. "Never. With anybody."

"Oh, fuck, sweetheart," Bucky moaned, clutching Steve's back. "You're a wet dream come to life. You know that?"

"No, but I know one thing."

"Hmm?"

"I know I've been waiting to kiss you for eighty-some years," Steve murmured, tracing the upper curve of Bucky's lip with the pad of his thumb, "and I don't really want to wait any longer."

It was Bucky's turn to flush, a delicate pink spreading its wings over his cheekbones. "Then what are you waiting for?"

**

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky released Steve's mouth to favor him with a heavy-lidded smirk – the very look Steve had seen him level at many a dame back in the day, always leaving Steve with an uneasy feeling of jealousy. Now that look was pointed directly at him, and it had the intended effect: Steve's insides turned to jelly, wobbling and gelatinous.

The first kiss was a soft, tentative press of lips that trailed off in a mutual sigh.

The second was equally chaste but harder, more insistent, leaving both trembling, their hearts racing.

The third involved slick, open mouths, shared breath, and clutching hands.

The fourth would have knocked Steve off his feet if he hadn’t been lying down. Bucky's mouth was deliciously hot and wet, his lips soft but firm, his tongue gentle but persistent as it chased down Steve's and made its intimate acquaintance. Bucky's fingers gripped Steve's upper arm hard, but not uncomfortably so, while Steve's hand pressed into the dip at the small of Bucky's back, registering his body heat through the t-shirt he wore. That kiss ended with panting breaths ghosting over each other's cheek as they rested their temples together to bring themselves back to earth.

Steve led the fifth, impatient to explore Bucky's mouth, savoring the deliberately slow but eager pace, the heat of Bucky at every place they touched, the hitch in Bucky's breath when Steve inserted his thigh between Bucky's legs to get even a fraction of an inch closer, his hand sliding from Bucky's lower back to the low-slung waistband of the jeans he'd worn when he fled the apartment the night before.

By the sixth, they had fallen into a complementary rhythm, a back and forth that could have belonged to a couple with years of practice. It came as naturally to them as anything else ever had throughout the course of their friendship; instinctually, they seemed to know each other this way as they did every other. Steve wondered if sex would be just as effortless, if he would know what to do, when, where, how fast, to make Bucky tremble and moan.

If he was half hard just from their closeness and the kissing, that thought coaxed him to full erection, his track pants doing nothing to conceal it. Bucky released Steve's mouth to favor him with a heavy-lidded smirk – the very look Steve had seen him level at many a dame back in the day, always leaving Steve with an uneasy feeling of jealousy. Now that look was pointed directly at him, and it had the intended effect: Steve's insides turned to jelly, wobbling and gelatinous. The way Bucky's long, dark eyelashes shaded his eyes, only a bare rim of blue now encircling his pupils, was indescribable. And, when combined with the moist redness of his smirking lips, it filled Steve with a distinct sense of internal pressure, concentrated in the center of his belly, and he couldn't distinguish if it was more impatience or lust.

 _Definitely both_ , he thought.

"Whatever we end up doing, the pace is up to you," Bucky said, dipping in to brush Steve's lips with his own. "We only do what you're comfortable with. Deal?"

"Mm-hmm," Steve managed, kissing his way up Bucky's jaw to his ear and flicking his tongue over the earlobe. Bucky twitched and made a little noise that went straight to Steve's crotch, and Steve slid his fingers beneath Bucky's waistband, curling them into the taut muscle at the upper curve of Bucky's ass to tug him closer still. The movement shifted the balance of Steve's weight just slightly, but it was enough to give gravity the upper hand, and Steve gave a startled yelp as he rolled off the couch with his hand caught in Bucky's waistband, dragging Bucky with him. They hit the hardwood floor with a resounding  _thud_ , Steve sprawled on top of Bucky, who stared up at him in shock for a moment before bursting into contagious laughter.

"If you wanted to change positions, you coulda just  _said_ ," Bucky managed when he caught a breath, sending them both into another gale.

"Ugh, I'm sorry," Steve snickered, red-faced, as he pulled back to kneel and offered Bucky a hand, helping him into a sitting position. "Real smooth, huh? Are you still surprised I've never gotten anybody into bed?"

Bucky's grin softened, and he rested his hands on Steve's thighs. "I wouldn't change a single thing about you," he said, then winked. "Even if you  _are_  a huge klutz." He bounded to his feet before Steve could grab him, although he wrapped Steve in his arms again as soon as Steve was on his feet. "Hey," Bucky murmured.

"Hey." Steve couldn't stop grinning if he tried.

"You have a major advantage over me," Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"You've showered in the last twenty-four hours." Bucky made a face. "I feel pretty disgusting. How about—" He walked Steve backward toward the bedroom doorway. "—you get comfortable, and I'll wash up as fast as humanly possible—" He slid a hand around the back of Steve's neck and brought their lips together in another soft, sweet kiss. "—and then I'll tuck you in and tell you a bedtime story."

"A bedtime story, huh?"

"Uh-huh." Bucky planted his hand in the center of Steve's chest and gave him a light push in the direction of the bed. "Something with a happy ending."

Steve groaned, but Bucky had already retreated into the bathroom, cackling. His blood humming with electricity, Steve considered peeling off his t-shirt on his way into the bedroom, but the thought of it made him feel absurdly shy, so he left it on along with his track pants and lay down on top of the neatly made bed. Old habits died hard, especially those learned in the military. With the sound of the running shower through the wall behind him providing a lulling background noise, Steve switched on the bedside lamp and lay on the bed, propped on his pillows with his hands laced on his stomach, staring at the ceiling without seeing it; all he could visualize was Bucky stripping out of his clothes... stepping under the hot water... lathering himself up... his hands gliding over the smooth, hard planes of his body...

The hard-on that fled when they fell off the couch came back with a vengeance, and Steve adjusted himself so he wouldn't appear to have pitched a tent in his pants when Bucky returned from the shower. His mouth fell open when his hand closed around his cock; he was so sensitive, so ready to be touched, that the sensation momentarily stole his breath. He was almost afraid of what would happen when Bucky touched him; he would probably make some kind of embarrassing sound or, worse yet, come in his pants like the virgin he was.

"Ugh," Steve muttered, grimacing, and sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, imagining all the ways things could go wrong; he was so absorbed in his anxiety that he didn't realize the shower was off until he heard Bucky enter the bedroom. Steve's head snapped up, his eyes wide and his pulse thrumming, but at the sight of Bucky in the doorway, the yammering in his head receded, a sense of calm, of  _rightness_ , descending over him.

"Hey," Bucky said again, tossing his dirty clothes on top of Steve's laundry pile and moving to stand between Steve's splayed knees. Bucky's hair was towel-dried and pulled back in a stubby ponytail, leaving his breathtaking, freshly shaven face uncovered. He looked like the personification of sin itself in a black tank top and black sweats made from a thin material that might've left him decent had he been wearing underwear, which he clearly wasn't.

"Hey." Steve put his hands on Bucky's waist and leaned in, kissing his clearly delineated abdominal muscles as Bucky rested his own hands on Steve's shoulders.

"You okay?"

Steve lifted his face to find Bucky gazing down at him with concern and unmistakable fondness. "I'm good," Steve said, giving him a self-conscious smile. "Maybe a little bit scared out of my mind."

"Aw, baby," Bucky said, cupping Steve's jaw in hands so gentle Steve could easily forget one of them was made of metal if it wasn't quite a bit cooler than the flesh hand. "Don't be scared," Bucky continued. "I told ya, we're only doing what you're comfortable with. If that means we sit on opposite ends of the couch and watch TV all night, that's okay with me."

"Not with me!" Steve exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist and pulling him onto the bed with a neat little abdominal twist that left them lying side by side, laughing.

"If that's your signature move, it's probably better you haven't brought anybody else to bed," Bucky said, and Steve rolled on top of him, making a face.

"Yeah, yeah. Yuk it up, wise guy." Drawing back to his knees, Steve lifted the hem of Bucky's tank top, sliding his palms up and over Bucky's stomach and pushing the shirt upward as he went. "Just because I haven't done this before doesn't mean I don't know anything."

"Oh, rea—" Bucky cut off mid-snark, his breath catching as Steve thumbed over his nipples. "Nngh. Okay."

"Right." Steve paused with his hands resting on Bucky's chest beneath the shirt. "Take this off."

Bucky gave a theatrical gasp. "Why, Steven Rogers! What do you take me for?" Regardless, he squirmed out of the shirt and flung it across the room, then reached for Steve. "Come down here," he murmured. "I wanna kiss you again."

"I could do this all day," Steve said with a sly grin, leaning over Bucky again to capture his mouth.

**

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I love you,_ Steve thought as they pulled apart, but he didn't have the nerve to voice it. Instead, he shifted, bracketing Bucky's thickly muscled thighs and using his own knees to knock Bucky's closer together.
> 
> Bucky snorted, his eyes twinkling but no longer tear-filled. "Now what's this move all about?"
> 
> "Making it easier to get your pants off." Steve reached for Bucky's waistband before his eyes skipped upward to meet Bucky's. "If that's okay."

"Oh,  _fuck_ , Stevie… that feels so good…"

Steve raised his head, leaving the muscular curve between Bucky's neck and shoulder damp and purpling in spots. "Yeah?"

"Mmm." Bucky blinked heavy eyelids at him, his slow, sexy smile back on his face. "Something about having you on top of me feels so fucking right."

Grinning, Steve slid downward until Bucky's hard cock dug into Steve's belly, two layers of fabric still separating them. Nonetheless, Bucky groaned at the friction, sending a buzz through Steve and immediately implanting in his mind the need to hear Bucky make more of those sounds, and to be the cause of those sounds. Steve pulled back, kneeling in the space between Bucky's legs, and stripped off his t-shirt, smirking a little when Bucky's eyes widened, raking over Steve's bare torso.

"Jesus," Bucky breathed, trailing his fingertips over Steve's stomach, smirking when he noticed what Steve wore around his neck. "Can't let go of the ol' dog tags, huh, Captain?"

Steve huffed a silent laugh, leaning over so the dog tags dangled over Bucky. "Look closer."

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky caught the swinging tags in his right hand and examined them. His mouth opened and closed silently, and he tugged gently on the chain, forcing Steve to lean even closer. "Stevie," he whispered, letting go of the tags to slip his hand around the back of Steve's neck. "How'd you get it if I was never found? Far as I know, HYDRA still has the ones I was wearing when I fell."

Steve pressed a soft kiss between Bucky's eyes before brushing the tips of their noses together. "They might," he said, "but you gave me your first set for luck before you were deployed, remember? You told your NCO you lost 'em." Steve chuckled. "He made you run a couple extra miles at boot camp, but he did have a new set issued."

"And you..." Bucky swallowed, his eyes shiny. "You still have 'em?"

"One's in the Smithsonian," Steve admitted. "The one they found when they were cleaning out our place. This one, I've been wearing since the day you shipped out."

"Christ." Blinking hard, Bucky dragged him in for a deep, thoroughly emotive kiss.

 _I love you_ , Steve thought as they pulled apart, but he didn't have the nerve to voice it. Instead, he shifted, bracketing Bucky's thickly muscled thighs and using his own knees to knock Bucky's closer together.

Bucky snorted, his eyes twinkling but no longer tear-filled. "Now what's this move all about?"

"Making it easier to get your pants off." Steve reached for Bucky's waistband before his eyes skipped upward to meet Bucky's. "If that's okay."

"Oh,  _God_ , yeah." Bucky raised his hips, and Steve licked his lips, his hands trembling as he hooked his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of Bucky's pants and dragged them downward, lifting the waistband up and over the pronounced bulge that revealed itself as easily the most beautiful dick Steve had ever seen – which spoke volumes, because he had seen a  _lot_  of them after discovering online porn. Bucky's was big and thick and flushed with blood that turned the shiny head nearly purple where it emerged from his foreskin, and Steve itched to get his hands on it as he tugged Bucky's pants off with haste. 

Steve closed tentative fingers around Bucky's rigid girth, glancing up again to gauge his reaction and finding Bucky staring at Steve's hand with glassy, hooded eyes and parted lips. Steve gave a slow, gentle stroke from base to tip, thrilling at the heat and weight of Bucky's cock in his hand, and he was rewarded with another low moan. Confidence bolstered, Steve reclaimed his hand for just a moment to lick the palm before wrapping it around Bucky again and squeezing lightly as he did.

With a soft grunt, Bucky bit his lip, watching Steve's every move as he adjusted his grip until he found one that felt natural. He was used to having his own cock in his hand, but certainly no one else's. Bucky's fit perfectly and felt amazing; Steve could probably toy with it all day and never get bored. Watching his hand move up and down the shaft, the foreskin making the slide effortless, was mesmerizing, even though he himself was uncut and had watched himself jerk off thousands of times. By the time he realized that the most compelling element of the whole experience was the soft but impassioned sounds pouring from Bucky's throat – and that Steve himself was responsible for them – Bucky's whole body was taut and trembling, and Steve moved to lie face to face with Bucky, tucked into the crook of his arm.

"So close," Bucky whispered, tugging Steve nearer to kiss him, so Bucky's first orgasm directly caused by Steve struck with Bucky's lips quivering against Steve's, his urgent moans caressing Steve's tongue, and his hips jerking into Steve's touch.

"Ah, God," Steve gasped, pulling away only to watch his own hand wring the last of Bucky's release from him, leaving his stomach and Steve's fingers splattered with warm fluid. "Jesus, Buck." Steve turned back to Bucky with his blood nearly turning to steam and his heart pounding. "You're fucking  _beautiful_ , sweetheart."

His eyelashes fluttering against his pinkened cheeks, Bucky gave a dreamy smile and a shuddery sigh. "I never thought I'd say this about a handjob, but God  _damn_ , baby... I never came so hard in my life."

Flushing with a weird sense of pride, Steve laughed a little, pressing his lips to Bucky's warm cheek. "I wanna watch you do that again about a million times, all right?"

"Mm-hmm." Bucky pried open his eyes to meet Steve's. "I've dreamed about having your hands on me for so long," he murmured, reaching across his own torso to stroke Steve's cheek with his considerably cooler metal fingers. "I don't want to wake up and find out this was just another dream."

"Then we won't sleep tonight," Steve suggested, "just to be sure."

Bucky grinned. "Seems like the safest bet." 

Steve reclaimed his gooey hand and used his discarded t-shirt to wipe it off, figuring it was far too early in their relationship to get away with licking the remnants of Bucky's orgasm off his hand... no matter how badly he wanted to try it. When he finished, he folded the shirt so the dry portion was on the outside and swabbed Bucky's belly clean, leaving Bucky starry-eyed.

"I knew it'd be perfect with you," Bucky said, pulling Steve into his arms. "And while we're on the subject of perfection, now would be a fantastic time to get you out of those pants so I can worship you like I've always wanted."

"S'that so?"

Nodding solemnly, Bucky shifted his weight to roll Steve beneath him. "I always wanted to kiss every inch of your little body," Bucky murmured, demonstrating by ducking his head and kissing the underside of Steve's jaw. "When you got big, I still wanted to do it; I just figured it'd take twice as long."

"Probably," Steve agreed, his heartbeat fluttering in his temples. "You got a couple days?"

"For you, I got all the time in the world." Bucky licked the pulse point on Steve's throat before sitting up, pinning Steve's thighs to the bed. "God, you're gorgeous. I wanna eat you up. Hmm," Bucky said, raising an eyebrow, "that actually sounds like a damn good idea."

"You – huh," was all Steve managed before Bucky slid downward, parting Steve's legs only to lie between them, holding himself up with his forearms braced on either side of Steve's hips. 

Licking his lips, Bucky glanced at Steve's face for approval before returning his attention to Steve's cock, which lay throbbing against his belly, quivering at the warm sensation of Bucky's breath. "Good God almighty," he muttered, smirking. "How the hell do you hide this monster in your uniform?"

"Hey, a man's gotta have his secrets." Steve hoped Bucky was distracted enough not to notice the flaming red shade of his face. Sure, he was famous and therefore constantly under scrutiny, but to have the personal, undivided attention of the only man he'd ever loved focused squarely on – well, on  _that_  – was more nerve-wracking than he cared to admit. His misgivings flew out the window, however, when Bucky bent and mouthed wetly up the underside of Steve's cock.

"Oh," Steve managed, his voice unsteady, and Bucky looked up at him again, wrapping his hand around Steve's dick to hold it upright. 

"You ever had your cock sucked, baby?" Bucky's voice was like melted butter, smooth and rich, filling every crack and crevice of Steve's being and saturating him with warmth.

Steve managed to shake his head, sliding an arm beneath it to give him a better view of what Bucky was doing. And  _oh_ , what Bucky was doing. He traced his wide, sensual mouth with the tip of Steve's cock, kissing lightly up and down the shaft, and gave Steve a smile that would've burned the clothing right off Steve's body if he'd still been wearing any. 

"Good," Bucky purred, "'cause I want the only mouth you ever come in to be mine." He punctuated his words by slipping the head of Steve's aching cock just inside the circle of his lips, sucking lightly on the tip before descending enough to push Steve's foreskin back all the way and letting his tongue explore.

Steve groaned loudly, gripping the sheets with his free hand, and Bucky hummed his agreement. "This is gonna be embarrassingly short," Steve warned in a weak, shaky voice.

Pulling back just far enough that Steve could see the thin strand of saliva connecting Bucky's lower lip to Steve's dick – and it was a miracle Steve didn't go off like a shot at that sight alone – Bucky looked up at him with a smile that somehow looked both sarcastic and sensual. "There ain't nothin' about you that's short, babydoll."

 _I'm the only man on Earth who'd blush during a blowjob,_ Steve thought, though he was unsure if the rolling of his eyes was at himself or caused by the tentative suction of Bucky's warm, wet mouth. Nothing, he was sure, had ever in his life felt as good, and the view was magnificent; Bucky's red lips wrapped around  _anything_  would be worth watching, but around Steve's own painfully stiff prick? He couldn't tear his eyes away. Bucky's slender but well-muscled body nestled between Steve's legs was the only thing that could possibly tear Steve's attention away from what his mouth was doing as it slid partway down the length of Steve's cock until he couldn't fit any more in and withdrew, repeating the motion over and over and over...

Steve was so mesmerized by the sight of Bucky sucking him off and the unprecedented pleasure radiating from their connection point to every remote part of his body that he didn't realize how close he was until every muscle in his lower half clenched simultaneously in anticipation. "Buck," Steve choked out in warning, but Bucky stayed put, reaching up with his metal hand to lace his fingers with Steve's. His other hand, wrapped around the base of Steve's cock, moved, quick and light, over the length Bucky couldn't fit in his mouth, and Steve couldn't hold back any longer. He came with a sobbing cry, his back arching, shooting hot and hard into Bucky's mouth, lost in the flood of sensation.

Steve forced himself to open his eyes as he came down from his high, drawn by the contented little noises Bucky made as he continued sucking lazily, toying more than providing suction, his tongue tracing the thick veins just beneath the skin as his flesh hand stroked Steve's lower belly. "What're you doin' down there?" Steve asked, sounding a little drunk even to himself and utterly unable to wipe the goofy smile off his face.

"My first time sucking you off, and I already have a taste for it," Bucky said with a grin, crawling upward to flop on top of Steve's torso. "Could be 'cause you taste like heaven. Sweeter'n sugar, baby."

"Oh, God, shut up," Steve groaned, but he was laughing.

"C'mere, lemme show you," Bucky murmured, his lips reddened, swollen, glossy, and irresistible. Without a second thought, Steve returned Bucky's kiss, far less weirded out than he thought he would be about tasting himself on Bucky's swirling, playful tongue. After a long while, they rolled onto their sides facing each other, hands clasped between them, whispering and stealing kisses, and neither was sure which of them drifted off first.

**

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky grunted, tipping his head back to rest against Steve's shoulder while Steve kissed and nibbled Bucky's neck and shoulder and his hand unhurriedly, even tenderly, stroked him from root to tip and back, relishing the heat of Bucky's flesh in his hand, against his lips, and molded to him from chest to feet. He was warm and solid and _real_ , alive and in Steve's bed and in his arms, and the thought overwhelmed Steve for a moment, leaving him breathless and quivering with his forehead resting against the back of Bucky's head.

"Morning, gorgeous."

Steve smiled, melting into the body that pressed itself against his bare back as he stood at the kitchen sink, filling the coffee pot. He turned off the water and rested his hands atop the arms wrapped around his waist. Bucky was warm and solid and  _thank the good lord above_  naked except for his boxer briefs, a state Steve was able to ascertain due to his identical near nudity. He could easily get used to this.

"Morning yourself. You were supposed to stay in bed so I could get back in and ravish you while we wait for the coffee."

"Tell you what." Bucky kissed the back of Steve's neck. "You get back into bed. I'm gonna brush my teeth, and then I'll come back and ravish  _you_."

"Well, that sounds—"

"—don't you dare say  _ravishing_ , Steven Grant."

Steve laughed aloud, delighted. "You still know me too well."

"You and your goddamn puns," Bucky muttered, snickering, as he turned and headed for the bathroom. Steve stared after him, admiring the flex of muscle beneath Bucky's pale skin and trying not to think too hard about the myriad scars marring it.

When Bucky returned to bed, Steve was curled up on his side, and he threw back the blankets, patting the expanse of sheet in front of himself. "Get over here and be my little spoon."

"I don't think I want to know where you picked that one up, but sure; why not?"

Steve welcomed Bucky into the bed and into his arms, tucking the blankets up around their shoulders and molding his own body to Bucky's back to ensure as much surface area as possible was touching him. Once situated, Steve gave a contented sigh, nuzzling against the back of Bucky's head, where his hair was still mostly tied back.

"Yeah… that's good." Bucky wiggled his hips in a bid to get closer, and Steve's cock began swelling immediately. "And  _that_  feels even better. Somethin' got you worked up, big guy?"

"Ya think?" Steve tugged Bucky closer with a hand splayed out on his belly, and Bucky made a throaty, satisfied sound, reaching back to grip Steve's hip.

"What're you planning to do with that thing?"

"I don't know." Steve nibbled at the side of Bucky's neck. "What're  _you_  planning to do with it?"

"Anything that ends with your spunk all over me." Steve choked a little, and Bucky burst out laughing. "What? I'm just bein' honest."

"I wonder if there's anything I can do to shut that big mouth up," Steve mused, grinding his hips against Bucky's ass, and Bucky let his breath out in a rush.

"Christ," Bucky half-moaned. "This ain't gonna shut me up. It's only gonna make me louder."

"Maybe I like this kind of loud." Steve reached around to cup and rub Bucky's cock through his underwear, coaxing him from semi to full hardness within his grip.

"Keep that up, and I'll show you loud."

"I wanna hear you," Steve whispered, sliding his fingers beneath the elastic waistband and wrapping them around Bucky's stiff thickness, pulling a few times beneath the fabric before snugging the elastic under his balls and out of the way.

Bucky grunted, tipping his head back to rest against Steve's shoulder while Steve kissed and nibbled Bucky's neck and shoulder and his hand unhurriedly, even tenderly, stroked him from root to tip and back, relishing the heat of Bucky's flesh in his hand, against his lips, and molded to him from chest to feet. He was warm and solid and  _real,_ alive and in Steve's bed and in his arms, and the thought overwhelmed Steve for a moment, leaving him breathless and quivering with his forehead resting against the back of Bucky's head.

"You okay?" Bucky, whose hips had found a complementary rhythm to the one Steve set with his hand, stilled.

Steve swallowed, nodding. "Yeah," he managed. "I just... I can't believe this. A few days ago, I was convinced I'd never see you again, and now, you're—"

"— _yours_ ," Bucky said, turning in Steve's arms and regarding him with a softness in his eyes that Steve remembered well from so long ago. "I'm yours, sugar. Nothing's gonna separate us ever again. Okay?"

Nodding again, Steve closed his eyes, opening them again at the feeling of Bucky's thumb wiping a tear from Steve's cheek. Unsure if he could speak, he pulled Bucky close and kissed him again. Bucky rolled on top of Steve, straddling his thighs, and rolled his hips, coaxing a breathy moan from Steve, who gripped Bucky's ass with both hands and thrust up at him.

"God," Bucky croaked, his eyes rolling, as his cock rode the cotton-clad length of Steve's, the friction nearly unbearable for both of them. "Oh...  _fuck_ , baby..."

Steve dragged him down to crush their mouths together, tongues tangling as they ground together, heat building between them and sweat beading on their bare skin.  _How do people know this exists and still get_ anything _done?_ Steve wondered, distracted, releasing his clutch on Bucky to shove his own underwear down to mid-thigh. He'd be perfectly happy never leaving the apartment – or the bed – again, as long as Bucky stayed with him and touched him and called him  _baby_.

Pushing himself up and bracing himself with his metal hand, Bucky reached between them and took hold of both of their swollen dicks. "Yeah, look at that," he muttered. "So fucking hot."

Steve couldn't argue with that.

Bucky stroked them slowly at first until Steve lay boneless beneath him; then he tightened his hand and jerked faster, his thighs trembling on either side of Steve's, his face contorted with rapture as he stared down at him. "You feelin' good, baby?" Bucky rasped. "You gonna come hard for me?"

"Oh, shit," Steve replied eloquently, clutching Bucky's biceps – one warm and thick with muscle, the other equally sized but cool and unyielding – as he began to unravel. "Ungh,  _God_ , Bucky, don't stop—"

"Fuck, Stevie," Bucky moaned, the rhythm of his hand growing erratic, "I want you to fuck me  _so bad_ , sugar..."

That shoved Steve over the edge with zero warning, and he let out a strangled groan as his orgasm wracked his body. Dimly, he felt Bucky jerk, his cock pulsing hotly against Steve's, and spill over his hand and onto Steve's belly, moaning Steve's name between heated gasps.

When Bucky had wrung every last drop out of both of them, he collapsed at Steve's side, nestled into the crook of his arm, heedless of the mess on his hand and on Steve's stomach. Steve kissed the side of his head, and Bucky sighed, melting contentedly against him. "I meant it, y'know," he mumbled, his cheek smooshed against Steve's chest.

"Meant what?"

"I want you to fuck me. If you wanna."

Steve pulled back and met Bucky's eyes, hooded with orgasm-induced sleepiness but otherwise bright and clear. "You... you do?"

Bucky nodded, his smile uncharacteristically shy. "Yeah. It doesn't have to be right away. Just sometime if you ever think you're ready for that."

"D'you..." Steve cleared his throat around his heart, which had taken up residence there at the thought of actually being  _inside_  Bucky. "Do you know how?"

"Can't be too hard to figure out," Bucky laughed. "I know what goes where."

Steve released a shaky breath. " _Yes_. I want to. I –  _soon_. Just not until we make sure we know what we're doing, okay? I don't want to hurt you or—"

Bucky pulled himself up and sucked Steve's lower lip into his mouth, making both of them laugh. "That's good enough for me," Bucky said, stroking Steve's short, damp blond hair. "What should we do today?"

"You want to, uh..." Steve blushed. "How about a shower first?"

A slow grin spread across Bucky's face. "Together? Steve, you dirty dog."

"Shut up, Barnes. I remember some of the tricks you pulled with the dames back in the day. You got no room to talk."

"Aw," Bucky said as he climbed out of bed and offered Steve a hand, "I only pulled them tricks with the dames 'cause I didn't think I could pull 'em with you."

Sliding his arms around Bucky's waist, Steve favored him with an indulgent smile and a long, slow kiss. "I'll take any tricks you got as long as you  _only_  pull 'em with me."

"Oh, challenge accepted." Bucky grinned, looking down at the gooey mess now sandwiched between them. "And now that we both  _really_  need that shower..."

**

After a shower that would have seemed absurdly long to anyone not participating in it, Steve and Bucky dressed, albeit reluctantly, and rustled up breakfast, finally pouring themselves the coffee Steve had made much earlier. They were each two and a half cups in and had already downed an entire loaf's worth of avocado toast between them when the door buzzer rang, and Bucky nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Sit tight. I'll grab it." Steve patted his cheek on the way past, and Bucky managed to give him a backhand swat on his jeans-clad ass in return.

As Bucky began clearing the table, Steve pressed the button in the hallway to answer the buzzer. "Hello?"

"Hey, Rogers," came a sultry, throaty female voice. "Look who's in your neighborhood."

"Nat! Come on up!" Steve buzzed Natasha inside the building and then turned to explain to Bucky who she was, but somehow, Bucky had disappeared from the kitchen. "Bucky?" he called, checking the bathroom before poking his head into the bedroom and scanning the kitchen and living room to no avail. Just as he noticed Bucky's backpack was no longer sitting on the floor near the corner nook, a soft knock sounded at the front door, and, scrubbing a hand through his hair, Steve opened it.

"If it isn't the fountain of youth himself," Natasha said, leaning in the doorway. Her crimson hair had been straightened since the last time Steve had seen her, falling to her shoulders and gleaming in the light from the windows lining the outer hall. In a fitted black leather jacket and matching knee-high boots over black skinny jeans, she looked every bit the dangerous beauty she was, although the twinkle in her black-lined green eyes and the smile curving her full, red lips into a smile belied the image.

"Ha ha," Steve said flatly, then broke into a grin and wrapped his arms around her. Nat was tiny next to his hulking frame; even in her boots, her head only reached his shoulder. She had to turn her head to avoid being smothered by Steve's bulky chest. "It's good to see you. Come on in," he said, stepping aside to allow Nat to pass, which she did with easy confidence, even though she had never set foot in Steve's apartment before. He briefly wondered how she even knew where he lived, but for someone with Nat's skills, finding his home address would have been child's play.

"Coffee?" Steve offered, passing Nat on his way into the kitchen. She stood at the opening to the main room, her head cocked and a tiny frown line evident between her sculpted eyebrows. "Or I have some herbal tea if you—"

"Shh," Nat hissed, holding up her hand to halt him. "Someone's here."

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but she already had her Glock pistol in her hand as she crept, silently but rapidly, toward the bedroom. "Nat—"

She disappeared around the bedroom doorway without a sound, and Steve swore under his breath as he skirted the counter island and followed her. He entered the bedroom to find Nat standing outside the open closet door with her Glock pointed directly at Bucky, who stood inside the closet with his Makarov pointed directly at Nat. 

"Retreat, Rogers," Nat snarled, never taking her eyes off Bucky. "I got this."

"Nat, you don't understand—"

"No, you don't understand. This man is the deadliest assassin in the world," she said grimly. "They call him the Winter Soldier, and he's been responsible for numerous political assassinations over the past fifty years. He shot me once. I was lucky enough not to be his primary target, only an obstacle between himself and the ambassador I was escorting. If he's in your apartment, you're the target, and I need to know why."

"I'm not a target, Romanoff," Steve sighed, brushing past Nat, gun and all, to circle Bucky's wrist with one gentle hand and retrieve the Makarov with the other. "Put the gun away and I'll explain."

Her frown deepening, Nat holstered the Glock beneath her jacket and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"C'mon." Steve guided Bucky out of the closet and toward the bedroom doorway as Bucky and Nat glared at each other with blatant distrust. "I think we could all use some of that herbal tea."

**

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat abruptly stood, pushing back her stool, and approached the windows, peering outside first from the windows at the southeast corner, then creeping from window to window along the east wall, and finally ending up in the nook at the northeast corner. Steve and Bucky exchanged a bewildered look as she returned to the kitchen, fractionally widened eyes the only indication that something was amiss.
> 
> "There's a HYDRA operative sitting on a bench across the street holding a newspaper, and another sitting in an unmarked sedan on the street to the north." She looked at Bucky. "They've caught up with you."

"Bucky Barnes." Nat's voice was as blank and without affect as her face. "As in  _James Buchanan Barnes_ , the only Howling Commando to give his life in service to his country; inseparable on schoolyard and battlefield; blah, blah, blah?"

"That's him." Steve braced one hand on the counter, standing prudently between Bucky's stool and Nat's. "Obviously, he survived the fall from the train. Long story short, HYDRA got their hands on him, pumped him full of chemicals, brainwashed him, fried his memories away, and cryogenically froze him between murder missions."

"Jesus," Nat muttered, leaning forward past Steve to look at Bucky. "That's all true?"

Bucky nodded, looking miserable, and Steve rested a comforting hand on the back of his neck beneath his stump of a ponytail. "The last mission they assigned is the one that broke their programming. They handed me a file and started to prep me for the mission, but when I saw who it was—"

"Who was it?"

Bucky's gray-blue eyes cut to Steve, his lip trembling almost imperceptibly. "It was Steve."

Natasha's eyes widened. "And you remembered him?"

"I started to." Bucky sipped his steaming mug of chamomile tea. "I remembered enough that I knew there was no way in hell I was gonna kill him."

"How'd you get away?"

"I killed them instead." Bucky stared into his mug. "All of my handlers. I hitchhiked to D.C. and spent some time in a shelter, detoxing from whatever the hell they put into me, and eventually I started looking for Steve."

"And I stumbled over him," Steve said, quirking a half smile at Bucky. "Or his backpack, at least."

"How long have you been here?" Nat asked, her focus squarely on Bucky.

Bucky thought for a moment. "I don't know; four, five days?"

Nat abruptly stood, pushing back her stool, and approached the windows, peering outside first from the windows at the southeast corner, then creeping from window to window along the east wall, and finally ending up in the nook at the northeast corner. Steve and Bucky exchanged a bewildered look as she returned to the kitchen, fractionally widened eyes the only indication that something was amiss.

"There's a HYDRA operative sitting on a bench across the street holding a newspaper, and another sitting in an unmarked sedan on the street to the north." She looked at Bucky. "They've caught up with you."

Bucky closed his eyes, despair washing over his face, and Steve laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," he said, slipping into his take-charge team leader voice without thought. "We'll grab my bike and get out before they—"

"No, we won't." Nat shrugged into her leather jacket, which she had tossed across the back of the couch before they sat down for tea and storytime. "First of all, where there are two of them, there are at least twenty more. Second, they'll be driving vehicles that can run down your bike in a heartbeat. You might be enhanced, Steve – and obviously you, too, Barnes – but if they ram the bike, you're both going down, and they'll be on you with high-powered semi-automatic weapons in a heartbeat."

Bucky glanced at Steve, real fear alive in his eyes. "Then what do we—"

"My Stingray's parked underground in a visitors' spot," Nat interrupted. "It's a two-seater, but we'll cram in. We'll outrun them and get somewhere safe, and then we'll plan our next steps."

"Let's go," Steve agreed, and the three of them exited the apartment without another word, filing down the stairs one at a time to the parking garage below the building.

"Steve, if you want to drive—"

Steve shook his head, waving off the keys Nat extended to him. "You'll drive a lot faster and a lot better than I will."

Natasha glanced at him and then at Bucky, assessing their sizes. "You won't fit side by side in the passenger seat. Someone will have to sit on the console."

"We'll double up," Steve said, yanking open the passenger door when Nat unlocked the Corvette. He climbed in and reached out a hand for Bucky, who squeezed into the car between Steve's legs and closed the door. From the driver's seat, Nat considered them for a moment, then started the car.

"I've never been gladder I had the windows blacked out," she said, pulling out of the parking spot with a mild screech of tires. "Hold on tight, boys. We're going for a ride."

Steve slid his arms around Bucky's waist, tension thrumming between them.

The car burst from the underground garage and onto the street, narrowly missing being t-boned by a bus, but Nat recovered quickly and sped southeast on Connecticut Avenue. In the sideview mirror, a charcoal sedan roared around the corner in the same direction, its windows bearing an equally dark tint to those on Nat's car. Nat weaved and dodged through traffic, turning randomly in a series of impressive evasive maneuvers, and before long, they were on the outskirts of the city, unencumbered by the attempted tail.

Nat pressed a button on her steering wheel, and when an electronic voice from within the car implored her to speak a command, she said aloud, "Call Fury, personal mobile."

Moments later, S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury's voice issued from the car's speakers. "Romanoff," Fury said in greeting. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hey, Nick. I'm with Rogers and, uh, a friend of his who appears to be at the top of HYDRA's hit list. We need a safehouse, stat. We're headed northwest on 70."

After a beat of silence, Fury responded, "There's a place off the grid in Renovo, Pennsylvania, a cabin between the Susquehannock and Sproul State Forests. I'll program your GPS with the coordinates. Touch base when you get there. And Romanoff – say nothing to no one."

"Got it. Thanks, Nick."

"Stay safe, Natasha. All of you."

**

They arrived at the coordinates sent by Fury around four in the afternoon after getting off the highway in favor of taking back roads and alternate routes. It was a small, decrepit-looking cabin, and Nat parked the car in the garage that wasn't much more than a glorified shed to keep it out of sight.

"Charming," Steve remarked on their way up the rickety porch steps, and Nat raised an eyebrow at him as she opened the nearly invisible keypad cover beside the door and punched in the code Fury provided to unlock the door.

"It's not much, but at least we stand a chance of not being riddled with bullet holes while we're here," Nat said dryly as they entered. The rundown exterior of the cabin was deceptive; inside, it was clean and well maintained, furnished in a comfortable, rustic style in earthy reds, browns, and greens. An inspection of the kitchen turned up an extensive stock of canned and boxed goods and shelf-stable items, as well as several gallons of bottled water.

"You two figure out sleeping arrangements." Nat held up her cell phone. "I'll get in touch with Fury and make a plan. You," she said, pointing one unpainted but impeccably manicured finger at Bucky, "stop worrying. You're in good hands. We won't let anything happen to you."

She stepped outside onto the porch, leaving Steve and Bucky alone in the cabin's open main room, and Bucky immediately turned and embraced Steve, burying his face in Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Bucky gritted out, clutching Steve tightly. "I never should've gotten you involved in this. I've put you in danger—"

"Stop." Steve pulled back and palmed Bucky's jaw, stroking the pad of his thumb over Bucky's lips. "Let me protect you for a change, will ya? I wouldn't trade any amount of safety in the world for the last few days, Buck. You've given me everything I ever wanted. There's no way on earth I'm going to let anyone or anything take you away from me."

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, silent, before pulling him close and kissing him, tender and deep. "I love you," Bucky whispered, his breath warm against Steve's ear, and a helpless smile spread across Steve's face as his arms tightened around Bucky's ribs.

"I love you, too."

By the time Nat returned, they had assessed the sleeping quarters, which consisted of a tiny pull-out couch in the main room of the cabin and a double bed in the open loft over the kitchen and bathroom. "So what's the plan?" Steve asked as Nat closed the door behind her and removed her jacket, hanging it on a peg beside the door.

Nat perched on the arm of the couch. "We stay here tonight. At six tomorrow morning, someone will pick us up and take us to New York. Stark's got accommodations set up for us in the Tower—"

Bucky gave a jolt, and Steve glanced at him.

"—and HYDRA doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting past security there," Nat continued. "In the meantime, we're just going to lay low." When she finished, she looked from Steve to Bucky and back again. "What's with him?" she asked, tilting her head toward Bucky.

Bucky was alarmingly pale. "Stark, as in..."

"Tony," Steve said, gripping Bucky's upper arm. "Howard's son."

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Bucky nodded, clenching his teeth and pressing his lips together as he turned away. Nat and Steve exchanged a look but said nothing. After a brief but uncomfortable silence, Steve spoke up. "As for sleeping arrangements," he said to Nat, "there's a double bed upstairs, and this couch pulls out."

Nat nodded, glancing toward the loft. "Well, I don't know if it'd be quite proper if I bunked with one of you—"

"No – Steve." Bucky turned back, his eyes wide and chaotic. "I need Steve."

"Hey." Steve put an arm around Bucky's shoulders, tugging him close against his side. "It's okay. I'm here. Nat, if it's okay with you—""

"You guys take upstairs." Nat shook her hair back, her lips pursed as if suppressing a smile. "I'll feel better on the ground floor, anyway."

Steve shot her a grateful look, and she did let out a smile then, strained but genuine.

**

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "C'mere," Bucky breathed, tugging at Steve until he got the hint and rolled on top of Bucky, dipping down to kiss him in the near darkness of the loft. Nat had gone to bed, as well, and Steve briefly entertained the hope that she was already asleep before Bucky distracted him by hooking his heels behind Steve's thighs and dragging him closer.

"You okay?"

Bucky turned his head, the only part of him visible above the bedclothes, and nodded, his hair rustling against the pillowcase. "Yeah, I just... I guess I had a false sense of security. Maybe I tricked myself into believing they wouldn't come looking for me. But I sure as hell didn't mean to get you and your friends all wrapped up in this."

Hunched over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling, Steve finished undressing to his underwear, switched off the lamp, and slid under the covers, where Bucky immediately adhered himself to Steve's side. "Try and relax," Steve murmured, stroking Bucky's hair back and kissing his forehead. "Everything will be okay, sweetheart. I've got you."

Bucky sighed against Steve's neck, draping his flesh arm over Steve's abdomen and twining their legs. "If there's ever been one person I trusted to keep me safe," he mumbled, "it's you."

A lump rose in Steve's throat at the memory of Bucky falling from the train; he had failed Bucky in the most fundamental way, opening the door for seventy years of torture and brainwashing and agony, and Bucky didn't even seem to count it as a failure. "I'll never let them get you," Steve whispered, clutching Bucky tightly.

"C'mere," Bucky breathed, tugging at Steve until he got the hint and rolled on top of Bucky, dipping down to kiss him in the near darkness of the loft. Nat had gone to bed, as well, and Steve briefly entertained the hope that she was already asleep before Bucky distracted him by hooking his heels behind Steve's thighs and dragging him closer. Another sigh escaped Bucky as Steve's lips slid from Bucky's mouth to his throat, nipping lightly as he kissed his way downward to Bucky's collarbone and scraped his teeth gently over it, which earned him a soft, breathy groan.

"We gotta be quiet." Steve continued kissing his way down Bucky's chest, pausing to lap and suck at first one nipple and then the other, thrilling at the sensation of the flesh stiffening and tightening against his tongue. He would never tire of this, he thought, sucking hard once more before continuing on his downward path, flushing at the realization that Bucky was completely naked. Bucky's tummy trembled as Steve's lips brushed over his abs, mapping the muscle definition by feel; deliberately avoiding Bucky's cock for the time being, Steve sucked soft bruises along one of Bucky's sharply cut v-lines, smiling against his skin as Bucky's breathing grew quicker and heavier when Steve leaned over further to lick and mark Bucky's inner thighs, marveling at the solidity of the muscle beneath his lips.

Tired of teasing – himself as much as Bucky – Steve bent and lapped at the tip of Bucky's cock, giving a nearly inaudible whimper at the pleasantly sweet flavor of his pre-come. Steadying Bucky's thick shaft with one hand, Steve took the head into his mouth, letting his tongue play, learning and relishing the slick smoothness of the exposed head, the soft slide and velvety texture of the skin. He noted the stretch of his lips and the satisfying yield of his jaw to accommodate Bucky's girth as Steve took more and more of Bucky's cock into his mouth.

"Stevie," Bucky groaned, and Steve reached blindly for his hand, squeezing Bucky's fingers. "God, baby, that feels so good…"

Steve pulled off Bucky's dick with a soft slurp and shushed him gently.

"I can't," Bucky mumbled, pulling on Steve's hand until he returned to face level and then dragging him into a fevered kiss. "You're a natural, sugar," he whispered against Steve's cheek, and Steve all but giggled in return.

"I can't finish you off if you're gonna make all that noise," Steve admonished him.

"I got an idea." Bucky slid off Steve's underwear and kissed him again before turning away, snugging his back against Steve's chest and his ass against Steve's pelvis. Steve pressed his mouth against the back of Bucky's shoulder to stifle his own grunt at the sensation of the length of his cock nestling between the taut mounds of Bucky's ass as if it was meant to fit there. "I learned this from a dame who was too prissy to go all the way but still wanted to fool around," Bucky whispered, and Steve heard him spit into his hand before reaching between them and slicking Steve's cock with it. "It's not the same, but it feels pretty fuckin' good anyway. Here, let me just—"

Breathless, Steve let Bucky maneuver them into position, his hand resting on Bucky's waist as Bucky lined them up and pushed backward, allowing Steve's spit-lubricated cock to slide neatly between Bucky's thighs just below the lower curve of his ass. Steve gasped at the heat and pressure surrounding him, making him lightheaded, and he wondered just how much better actual sex could possibly feel, and, in that case, if he would survive it.

"Fuuuck," Steve breathed out, clutching Bucky's hip, the head of his cock nudging Bucky's balls, drawing a soft whine from Bucky.

"Yeah, baby, fuck me just like that," Bucky murmured over his shoulder. "Show me how sweet you're gonna be."

"Jesus, Buck, that  _mouth_." Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky's chest, allowing their upper bodies no room to move but leaving their lower halves unrestrained, and gave a gentle thrust and another and another. A groan bubbled up from Steve's chest, and he bit down on Bucky's neck to muffle it, squeezing his eyes closed against the pressure building inside him.

" _Fuck_ ," Bucky hissed, dragging Steve's hand from his chest to his cock, guiding Steve's fingers to curl around the throbbing shaft. "Stevie,  _God_ , please..."

Steve exhaled a silent sob through his nose, sliding his arm beneath Bucky and clutching him tightly while his other hand stroked Bucky's dick with a firm grip, torn between wanting the experience to last forever and wanting to get Bucky off as hard and fast as possible. He wanted both at once; he wanted  _everything_ ; he wanted to be back in his apartment, in his bed, holding Bucky in his arms and making him gasp and moan and cry out without a care in the world. Above all, he wanted Bucky to know he was safe and loved no matter where they were, so he held Bucky closer, kissing the side of his neck and his ear and his jaw, as he fucked into the snug warmth of Bucky's thighs, the tip of his cock skating purposefully and repeatedly over Bucky's twitching hole.

" _Oh_ , Steve," Bucky gasped, stiffening against him, and turned his face into the pillow. His body pulsed in Steve's arms, and Steve both heard Bucky's moans and felt their vibrations against his lips as Bucky spilled over Steve's hand; the heat of his release pulled Steve over with him. Steve bit harder on Bucky's neck as he came, remaining dimly conscious of the pressure of his embrace to avoid cracking Bucky's ribs.

They lay together as they caught their breath, melting into each other in a sated heap beneath the unfamiliar sheets. "Bucky," Steve whispered after a while, his lips brushing the shell of Bucky's ear, and Bucky gave a miniscule start and a sigh.

"Mm-hmm..."

"I love you."

Bucky turned in Steve's arms, sleepy-eyed, and nuzzled against his cheek. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Better believe it."

"Make me."

Pressing their lips together, Steve gave it his best effort.

**

"Rise and shine, kids!"

Nat's voice was followed immediately by a pillow she hurled into the loft from below; it landed on Steve's head, and he pushed it aside, blinking and momentarily disoriented. When he remembered where they were and why, he sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face, and turned to find Bucky looking up at him from a cocoon of blankets. "Hey," Steve said, smiling despite the uncertainty of the days ahead. Waking up next to Bucky was better than any cup of coffee; just one glimpse of his grumpy morning face gave Steve the courage to take on the world.

"Mmph." Bucky covered his face with the pillow Nat threw, but Steve pulled it away.

"C'mon. We have to get up if we want a shower and breakfast before we have to leave."

"I don't need a shower."

"After last night, I think you do," Steve murmured, grinning as he pulled back the blanket, revealing Bucky's bare torso, encrusted with an itchy-looking film of dried bodily fluids. Even so, Steve's cock twitched in interest; he had never in his life been as strongly attracted to another human being as he was – and always had been – to Bucky. Now that Steve had been blessed with a taste of him, he craved more every minute.

Grumbling, Bucky kicked at him, but Steve was already out of the bed, ducking his head while yanking on his boxer briefs and t-shirt. "Come on," Steve said, holding out his hand, and Bucky forced himself into a sitting position.

"What's my incentive?" Bucky's good-natured glare was more of a wicked glint as he reached out and hooked his fingers into Steve's waistband, tugging him closer until his knees hit the edge of the bed.

Steve pressed his finger to his lips in a "shh" gesture and winked, holding himself at arm's length as he slid his hand inside his own boxer briefs and cupped himself with a suggestive smile. Swallowing visibly, Bucky nodded, his eyes growing wide, and Steve tossed him his own underwear before crawling out of the loft and down the ladder to the main floor.

Nat was in the kitchen when Steve's feet met the hardwood, her hair wound up in a towel piled atop her head. "Morning," she said without turning around, although he knew without seeing her face that she wore that knowing little smile again. "We've got dry cereal or oatmeal, so take your pick. There's some canned fruit in the pantry, too."

"Uh, yeah. Okay. I think I'll grab a quick shower first," Steve stammered, shaking his head at himself as he retreated to the bathroom, but he didn't have much time to self-flagellate, because Bucky let himself in a moment later.

"Think that shower's big enough for two?"

Steve grinned. "God, I hope so."

**

When Steve emerged from the bathroom a short time later, leaving Bucky to finish rinsing shampoo from his hair, he wore a smile and yesterday's clothes. Nat poured coffee into a mug and handed it to him, leaning against the counter and watching without comment as he added powdered creamer and sugar.

"I made a boatload of oatmeal," she said mildly, sipping her coffee as she gestured to a large pot on the stove. "I figured you two would need your energy." Steve gave her a sharp look, and she smiled. "Enhanced metabolisms and all," she clarified, raising a challenging eyebrow, which he chose to ignore.

"Thanks," he muttered, blushing, as he dished out two enormous bowls of oatmeal, spooning canned peaches and cinnamon over the top, before pouring a second cup of coffee and stirring creamer and an obscene amount of sugar into it. He had just set the dishes onto the table when Bucky surfaced, long hair wet and slicked back, shirtless in his black jeans, nodding in Nat's direction and giving Steve a smile that curled his toes as he slid into the seat next to Steve's.

"You remembered how I take it," Bucky murmured after taking a sip, and Steve's smile widened into a grin.

"Hard to forget," he said. "Light and brain-meltingly sweet."

They stared at each other for a long moment, grinning like fools, until Nat sighed and dropped into a chair across the table from them, setting down her mug with a thump. "Okay, boys," she said, resting her chin in her hand, her green eyes flicking from Steve to Bucky and back again. "Two questions, and I'll leave it alone. How long has it been going on, and who knows besides me?"

Steve looked away, blushing, but Bucky took his hand where it rested on the tabletop. "I'll make a long story short," Bucky said, his gaze fixed on Steve. "It shoulda been going on seventy, eighty years ago, but we only pulled our heads out of our asses a couple days before you showed up. You're the only one we've spent any time with since then, so yeah... nobody else knows."

Nodding slowly, Nat considered them, her lips curving into a smile. "Thank God," she said at last, and Steve cocked his head.

"For what?"

"I can stop trying to set you up on dates."

"Uh... why and when have you been trying to set me up on dates?"

"Steve." Nat shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Since the day I met you, it was glaringly obvious that you needed to get laid in the  _worst_  possible way. Barnes, I'm glad you came along when you did, because I was  _this close_ —" She held her thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. "—to hooking this guy up with the blonde nurse on his floor."

"I'll fight a bitch," Bucky said flatly, and Nat burst into laughter, followed by Steve and then Bucky himself. They were winding down when a cheerful, familiar voice issued from the direction of the front door, startling the three of them:

"What the hell's so funny, huh?"

**

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've got nothing to worry about," Steve continued. "We can trust everybody here."
> 
> Bucky gave a half-hearted snort. "They don't know me, Steve. They don't know what I've done."
> 
> "Buck." Steve wrapped Bucky in his arms and pulled him close; after a moment, Bucky returned his embrace. "Listen," Steve murmured into Bucky's ear. "Everybody has skeletons in their closet, but this group? Our closets might as well be mass graves. Believe it or not, you're not even the only one on this _floor_ who's done awful things under mind control. Trust me; you'll fit right in."

Three different people experienced three varying reactions to the newly arrived Clint Barton. Steve gave a startled jolt at the sound of his voice, Natasha's face lit up subtly, and Bucky scrambled out of his chair to crouch behind Steve's.

"Clint!" Nat said, her voice low and warm but edged with excitement, and Steve gave her a sidelong glance while still clutching his chest. He filed her reaction away for later as he rose from his chair and hunkered down next to Bucky.

"You okay?" Steve murmured, one hand rubbing gentle circles into Bucky's upper back, and Bucky shivered, his eyes flicking to Clint before jumping back to Steve, who leaned close to whisper into Bucky's ear. "It's all right. Clint's a friend. He's here to help."

"What's going on, kids?" Clint joined them by the dining room table, where Nat gave Steve another shock by wrapping her arms around Clint's neck. He was aware the two had known each other for years and had worked on assignments together that only they could possibly relate to, but Nat wasn't exactly the openly affectionate type. Clint's arms surrounded her without hesitation; their embrace was brief but close, and Steve didn't miss the look Nat fixed on Clint when she stepped back.

"It's a long story," she said, "but we'll explain it on the way."

Clint gave her a lazy salute and an easy grin. "Yes, boss. Let's get this convoy on the road."

Twenty minutes later, the four of them were secured in a bulletproof SUV with windows even more heavily tinted than those on Nat's Corvette, which remained stored in the hidden carport on the cabin's property. Nat sat up front with Clint, while Steve and Bucky took the back seat; Steve took Bucky's hand before they even reached the main road, and Bucky gave him a wan but grateful smile.

Nat explained the situation as thoroughly as possible, but Steve was both surprised and thankful that she left out the part about him and Bucky being in a relationship. He didn't care if Clint knew, but he didn't want to make the same assumption for Bucky.

The ride to from Pennsylvania to Manhattan took over five hours with midtown traffic factored in, and they arrived at Stark Tower a little before noon. Clint parked the SUV in the private, high-security underground lot, and after he provided both a verbal command and a retinal scan, the four of them took the elevator to the dizzyingly high floor Tony Stark and Pepper Potts called home. Bucky, who was quiet for most of the drive, was downright mute by the time they stepped off the elevator, and Steve pulled him aside, gesturing for Nat and Clint to give them a moment as he led Bucky around the corner. "Hey," he murmured, cupping Bucky's chin, and Bucky looked up from the floor, his expression both melancholy and full of trepidation. "You've got nothing to worry about," Steve continued. "We can trust everybody here."

Bucky gave a half-hearted snort. "They don't know me, Steve. They don't know what I've done."

"Buck." Steve wrapped Bucky in his arms and pulled him close; after a moment, Bucky returned his embrace. "Listen," Steve murmured into Bucky's ear. "Everybody has skeletons in their closet, but this group? Our closets might as well be mass graves. Believe it or not, you're not even the only one on this  _floor_  who's done awful things under mind control. Trust me; you'll fit right in."

His jaw tensing, Bucky gave a terse nod. "Let's go, then. Just… if I need to get out of there…"

"If it gets to be too much, give me a signal." Steve thought for a second. "Squeeze my arm. Hard. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." Bucky managed a weak smile. "Lead the way."

Steve leaned in for a brief kiss before putting his arm around Bucky's shoulders and guiding him back to where Nat and Clint waited outside the elevator, talking in low voices and standing closer together than Steve seemed to remember them doing any other time. "Ready," Steve said, grateful his voice came out sounding yards more confident than he actually felt, and followed Nat and Clint inside Tony and Pepper's vast apartment.

**

Catching up the available team members – besides Tony, Pepper, Nat, and Clint, only Bruce and Nick Fury were present – took very little time, but Steve was emotionally exhausted after explaining for the third time in two days the tale of Bucky's survival, torture, brainwashing, weaponization, and eventual escape. For his part, Bucky remained silent and wide-eyed, cowering next to Steve in the corner of one of the absurdly expensive couches.

"Jesus H. Christ," Tony marveled, sitting back in his chair as he slowly shook his head from side to side. "I didn't know what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn't  _that_."

Bruce and Fury exchanged a look, but neither spoke.

"Sergeant Barnes," Pepper said gently from her perch on the arm of the chair in which Tony sat, "is there anything we can do for you? Anything you need?"

"Ahh…" Bucky tensed, and Steve smiled at him in encouragement. "No, ma'am, I'm… I'm okay. Steve's taking good care of me."

Steve shot Nat a look, daring her to so much as smirk, but her expression remained impassive, no emotion readable on her coolly beautiful face.

"Good." Pepper gave him a warm smile. "We've set up suites for you, Steve, Natasha, and Clint. There's a shared living area and a kitchenette, but each of you has your own bedroom, and I made sure there were plenty of towels in the bathrooms and—"

"Isn't she the hostess with the mostess?" Tony cut in, offering Pepper a winning smile in exchange for her narrowed eyes. "But seriously, listen, I'm sure security is a concern of yours, so I want to ease your mind right off the bat. The Tower's outfitted with a military-grade security system. JARVIS – my A.I. – has eyes and ears on every possible point of entrance. Nobody gets into this building without clearance, and everything from the lab to the war room – that's the top floor – requires a retinal scan  _and_ vocal confirmation, along with my personal okay. That means there are fewer than ten people on Earth who can access these floors, including all of the living quarters. You're safer here than probably anywhere else in the world."

Bucky nodded, but Steve picked up on his trembling even through the plush couch cushions, and he had a feeling it wasn't the threat of a HYDRA ambush that had Bucky terrified.  _Maybe it's all the new faces,_  he mused, also noting that Bucky had left his backpack full of weapons at the apartment.

"Welcome back, Sergeant. It's an honor," Fury said from his standing position against the wall, giving Bucky a small salute, and Bucky managed something resembling a smile at that.

"Thank you, sir."

"But –  _damn_ ," Tony said again, leaning forward with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. "I can't even believe it.  _The_  James Buchanan Barnes. I can't begin to tell you how much I learned about you in history class, and my father? Forget it. He never missed an opportunity to tell me about working with you and Cap and the rest of the Howling Commandos."

Steve didn't miss Bucky's sharp intake of breath and twitch at the mention of Tony's father.

"The way he'd tell it sometimes, he was practically an honorary Commando," Tony continued, grinning, and at that, Bucky clamped his flesh hand around Steve's left wrist. Steve glanced at Bucky, distressed at his state: eyes wide, jaw clenched, hairline beaded with sweat, body crunched tightly into the corner of the couch.

"Ah – sorry to interrupt, but—" Steve nearly jumped to his feet, dragging Bucky up with him. "Can we just – which floor—"

They all stared in alarm, but Pepper responded first, her demeanor remaining as calm and soothing as ever. "Why don't you two come with me?" She strode to the front door, her precariously high heels tapping a brisk beat on the tile, and Steve followed, leading Bucky with an arm around his shoulders.

Fury pushed himself off the wall, frowning. "Cap—"

"Sorry, Commander," Steve called over his shoulder. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

He pulled the door closed behind them, cutting off Tony's bemused voice. "What the hell was—"

"Sergeant," Pepper said, pressing the button for the ninety-fourth floor and turning toward Bucky. "Or would you rather I call you Mr. Barnes?"

"J-James or Bucky are f-fine," Bucky stammered, cringing beneath Steve's arm. "I'm s-sorry—"

"Please don't apologize," Pepper said, sincerity painting her elegant features. "It's not necessary. Not a bit. I can only imagine what you've gone through and what you're still dealing with."

The elevator stopped at their floor, and Pepper led them into the common area, where comfortable chairs and a couch faced a giant television; just beyond lay the small kitchen, and several doors were spaced at intervals along two opposite walls. One entire wall was comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows that were, Steve had assessed by his examination of the exterior of the building on the way in, mirrored on the outside for privacy but perfectly transparent from within.

"The two bedrooms on the left are yours." Pepper gestured in their direction. "There's a shared bathroom between them, and the same on Clint and Natasha's side. Take all the time you need," she said, giving Steve a stern look that fairly screamed  _I mean it_. "I'll pacify Tony and the others. Don't worry about a thing. You can talk when and if you're ready."

"Thank you, ma'am," Steve said, and Pepper rested a hand briefly on the arm Bucky wasn't clutching in a death grip.

"One of these days, I'm going to get you to stop calling me that." In a subtle waft of expensive perfume, Pepper was gone, and as the elevator doors closed, Bucky nearly collapsed into Steve's arms, still quivering violently.

"Okay, Buck. You're okay," Steve murmured, leading Bucky to the nearest seat – an enormous, overstuffed ivory colored armchair – and pulling Bucky onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around Bucky's trembling form, Steve held him, whispering encouragement into his hair until he seemed calm.

Just when Steve was about to ask what triggered the episode, Bucky raised his head, his expression stormy and edged with fear. "When I heard Howard's name yesterday, it gave me a really bad feeling, but I didn't know why," he whispered. "Talking to Tony, I remembered why. I have to leave. I have to go."

"Remembered what?" Bewildered, Steve rubbed Bucky's back in slow circles, forcing himself to remain calm when Bucky's behavior had his stomach in knots.

"Howard," Bucky croaked, grief joining the emotions on his face. "It was me. I killed Howard and his wife. I killed Tony's parents."

**

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fuck," Bucky breathed, holding Steve at arm's length with both hands on Steve's chest, cupping Steve's pecs while his eyes raked over Steve's upper body. "You're somethin' else, Rogers. There's so many things I want to do to you, I probably don't even know what half of them are yet."

Steve lay awake, combing Bucky's hair with his fingers while Bucky slept curled up in his lap. They hadn't left the armchair; after Steve talked Bucky down somewhat, Bucky burrowed his face into Steve's neck and essentially passed out, and Steve didn't have the heart to wake him even to carry him to bed.

Knowing Tony, Steve himself was more than a little worried about how he would react to the revelation that Bucky, and not a simple car accident, was responsible for the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark. Before falling asleep, still trembling, Bucky confessed to Steve what he remembered about the murder: as the Winter Soldier, he ran them off a desolate country road, and when their car smashed into a tree, he took advantage of their injuries and disorientation to finish them off. With tears in his eyes, Bucky recounted beating Howard to death with his metal fist before strangling the gravely wounded Maria.

_I'm a monster, Steve._

The last words Bucky spoke before succumbing to his emotional and physical exhaustion clattered around Steve's brain, incessant and harsh. Steve closed his eyes for a time, attempting to sleep as well, but he could no more quiet the turmoil in his mind than he could release Bucky from his protective embrace, no matter how numb his right foot happened to be.

After an hour or so, Bucky stirred, his loose, limp posture stiffening inside the circle of Steve's arms, and he raised his head, blinking like a drunk in a sandstorm as the afternoon sun assailed him. "Ugh," he complained, his voice gravelly with disuse. "I was hoping this was a bad dream and I'd wake up at the apartment, in bed with you. No such luck."

"I'd say we're still pretty lucky." Steve pressed his lips against the side of Bucky's head. "We got away, we're a hundred percent safe, and we're together. Right?"

Bucky managed a half smile. "Yeah. And we're surrounded by people with superhuman abilities who'll be after my head when they find out what I've done."

"They won't," Steve insisted, but before Bucky could argue the point, the elevator dinged, and a moment later, Nat poked her head around the corner, pretending to cover her eyes.

"Everybody decent?"

Blushing, Steve mugged at her. "Har, har." He couldn't help noticing Bucky made no move to vacate his lap, which thrilled Steve a little.

"So," Nat said, perching on the arm of the nearby couch and training her intent green gaze on the two of them. "Is anybody going to tell me what happened down there, or do I have to guess?"

Bucky remained silent, even when Steve nudged him.

"Okay, if you insist, I'll put my psychic powers to the test." Nat pressed two fingers to each of her temples and frowned in mock concentration. "It's about the assassination of the Starks in 1991 by the Winter Soldier, right?"

Bucky's eyes grew round.

"Wha– how did you—" Steve stammered, and Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"Really?" she asked dryly. "Need I remind you of my specialized skillset? I texted Nick last night and asked him to gather any available intel on the Winter Soldier. I just skimmed through your file—" At that, she looked pointedly at Bucky. "—and it's in there.  _Everything's_  in there."

"I want to see it," Steve said, his eyes narrowed, the rage simmering inside him threatening to boil over at the thought of the horrors Bucky's HYDRA file would surely contain.

"Steve,  _no_." Bucky rounded on him, his face ablaze with something akin to terror.

"Hey." Steve took Bucky's jaw in both hands, ghosting his thumbs over Bucky's cheekbones. "No matter what's in that file, it's not going to change how I feel about you. Got it?"

Helpless, Bucky looked at Nat, who shrugged. "I figured there was some gnarly shit in there, and I wasn't wrong," she said with a shrug, giving him a devilish smile "And  _I_ still like you fine. Anyway, listen. About Tony."

Bucky cringed.

"Clint's talking to him now," Nat said. "If anyone's qualified to give an in-depth discourse on someone's lack of culpability while under enemy mind control, it's Clint."

Steve nodded. "Good point."

"Barton's  _telling_  him?" Bucky twisted away from Steve's comforting hands, staring at Nat in horrified disbelief. Steve's heart gave an uncomfortable double thud on Bucky's behalf.

Nat nodded, a terse, no-nonsense gesture. "Along with Fury, yes, and they brought Pepper in, too."

"Tony's voice of reason," Steve murmured, prompting another nod from Nat.

"Exactly. And just between us, Pepper removed Tony's access to this floor," Nat said with a faint smile. "So even if he does flip out, which I honestly don't think he will, he won't be able to get to you, anyway."

His body slumped with defeat, Bucky shook his head slowly from side to side. "HYDRA's already after me, and now Tony's gonna be gunning for me, too. Where the hell am I gonna go from here?"

" _You're_  not going anywhere." Steve's arms tightened around Bucky's middle. "No matter what happens, I'm staying with you. Wherever you go, I go. Okay?"

Bucky said nothing, but his shoulders lowered fractionally, which Steve counted as a small victory.

"Here's what we're going to do for now." Nat leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees. "I'll go check on the situation and interject if I need to. You two stay here." The  _out of Tony's sight_  was clearly implied. "Steve, you're in charge of keeping Barnes distracted."

"I think I can handle that." At his own words, Steve blushed despite himself, and, laughing, Nat returned to the elevator.

"And how do you plan to do that?" Bucky asked, the hopelessness on his face cracking Steve's heart in two.

"Any way that'll make you smile. C'mon, get up." Steve swatted Bucky's ass when he complied, grinning at Bucky's yelp of surprise. "Let's take a look around."

"What for?" Bucky looked at the floor. "We probably won't be here very long."

Steve huffed a frustrated sigh, grabbing Bucky's hand and dragging him toward their designated bedrooms. "Because knowing Tony, the beds in this place are gonna be the nicest we'll ever see," he explained as he veered toward the bedroom door on the left, "and I have every intention of getting you off in at least one of them."

Bucky snorted laughter –  _finally!_  – and poked his head into the room, gaping at the bed in front of them. Steve could relate; he had  _seen_  a king size bed before, but he had never slept in one, let alone done any of the things he was imagining now doing with Bucky.

"Is that a bed or an aircraft carrier?" Bucky exclaimed.

"I dunno. Let's find out," Steve said, giving him a light shove, and Bucky gasped as he tumbled onto the bed on his back.

"Huh. Feels like lying on a cloud." Bucky looked expectantly at Steve. "Well? Close that door and get your ass down here." When Steve obeyed, crawling up the bed to bring them face to face, he was dismayed by the poorly veiled discomfort and fear in Bucky's eyes.

"Hey," Steve murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair off Bucky's forehead, "if you're not up to this, we can just—"

Bucky stopped him with a brusque shake of his head. "Nat's right," he said, reaching between them to pop the button on Steve's pants. "I need to be distracted, and you're the only one who can make me stop thinking altogether."

"I don’t know if that's a compliment." Steve nonetheless swooped down to kiss Bucky, deep and hard, and Bucky responded with a soft grunt, wrapping his legs around Steve's hips.

"Oh, it's a compliment." Bucky hooked his fingers beneath the hem of Steve's shirt and pulled it upward until Steve got the picture and skinned it off. "Fuck," Bucky breathed, holding Steve at arm's length with both hands on Steve's chest, cupping Steve's pecs while his eyes raked over Steve's upper body. "You're somethin' else, Rogers. There's so many things I want to do to you, I probably don't even know what half of them are yet."

Steve grinned, dipping down to bury his face in the side of Bucky's neck. "I know where we can learn a few things."

"Oh, yeah?" Bucky sounded intrigued and not at all morose or nervous. Steve mentally clapped himself on the back.  

"Mm-hmm." Steve pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sat at the head of the bed, propping himself against the abundance of pillows.

Sliding up next to him, Bucky watched, curious, as Steve tapped in a website address. "Porn Stop?"

"Yeah," Steve said, heat blossoming across his face. "They collect the highest rated porn videos from all over the internet."

"So, like… stag films?" Bucky tilted the screen toward him as Steve scrolled down the page, thumbnails of busty women and giant erections rolling past as he went.

Steve nodded. "You've – you've  _seen_  porn, right? Since that stack of eight-pagers you kept under your bed?"

With a shrug, Bucky shook his head, and Steve laughed a little in disbelief. "Oh, Buck… you have no idea what you've been missing. I thought maybe we could, you know, get a couple ideas."

Bucky let out a heavy breath, puffing his cheeks out, and clutched Steve's thigh. "I swear, doll, you surprise me every minute."

Steve switched the phone to his right hand so he could rest his left high on Bucky's inner thigh, plucking idly at the inseam with his fingertips as he navigated to the website's collection of gay videos. "You pick," he said, passing the phone to Bucky and curling up against his side. "And if something looks good and you want to try it, bookmark it. Remember I showed you how to do that?"

"Mm-hmm." Bucky sounded distracted as he scrolled down the page, hovering over a video whose title boasted  _Cute Twinks Rimming and Fingering to Explosive Cumshot!_  He glanced at Steve, who smiled and nuzzled against Bucky's cheek in encouragement.

Eight minutes and forty-two seconds later, when the video came to an end, Bucky turned to Steve with his pupils dilated and his color high. "Jesus Christ," he rasped. "Let's bookmark that one."

"Yeah? You want to try that?" Steve couldn't deny the appeal; throughout the duration of the video, his brain had superimposed their faces over those of the young men cavorting onscreen, resulting in his pants feeling  _much_  too tight.

Bucky released a shaky sigh. "Fuck yes, I do, but only when we're sure we have lots of time."

Leaning over Bucky until they were nearly horizontal despite the mound of pillows, Steve plucked the phone out of Bucky's hand and tossed it onto the nightstand. "How about this. Next bed we spend the night in, whether it's here or somewhere else, I'm gonna make you sound just like that little blond," he purred into Bucky's ear, earning a raw shudder from Bucky. In the video, the slender, tattooed boy with an artfully styled mop of platinum blond hair had moaned and cried out like – well, like a porn star – as his darker haired partner lavished attention on him with his tongue and his fingers... and now Steve couldn't think of anything he'd rather do.

"Mmm, yeah," Bucky whimpered, his head lolling against the pillows as Steve kissed and sucked his way down the side of Bucky's neck.

"But in the meantime, I can't leave you like this." Steve slung one leg over Bucky, straddling his lap and bracing himself with one hand amongst the pillows while he pulled open the button and zipper on Bucky's pants and slid a hand inside, smirking down at Bucky as his fingers closed around Bucky's rigid, pulsing length.

"Steve," Bucky whispered, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Steve's response was a low chuckle as he bent down to claim Bucky's mouth again.

**

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Errmph," Steve managed, his eyes opening before his mouth did, just in time to see Nat poke her crimson head through the door.
> 
> "If someone had told me two days ago that I'd walk in on Captain America snuggling with the Winter Soldier," she deadpanned, "I'd have taken them out just for starting rumors."

Steve and Bucky were entwined on the bed, fully dressed but blissfully post-coital after a mutual handjob that left them both loose-limbed and sleepy, when Nat's voice outside the bedroom door startled them back to full consciousness.

"Cover up, love bugs. I'm coming in."

"Errmph," Steve managed, his eyes opening before his mouth did, just in time to see Nat poke her crimson head through the door.

"If someone had told me two days ago that I'd walk in on Captain America snuggling with the Winter Soldier," she deadpanned, "I'd have taken them out just for starting rumors."

Bucky pressed his face into Steve's chest, mumbling, "You didn't tell me she's a brat  _and_  a ball-buster."

"He didn't? They're both on my business cards." Nat perched on the edge of the bed, smiling as widely as Steve had ever seen her. "So, who's ready for dinner? Pepper ordered Thai, so I'm about to eat my weight in coconut rice."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Steve sat up, gingerly extracting himself from the tentacles Bucky seemed to have sprouted during their nap, although Bucky immediately adhered himself instead to Steve's thigh.

"Oh, of  _course_  I'm going to drown myself in gai pad pongali," Nat said, rolling her eyes, "but I'm having a full-on carb attack, so the rice is all I can think of."

"Son of a—" Bucky took a blind swat at her, missing by a mile, and she smiled, patting him on the head.

"Oh, calm your tits, Barnes."

Bucky sat up, making a face. "My tits  _can't_  be calm when Steve's around."

"Duly noted."

Steve shook his head, trying his damndest to pretend he didn't love everything about the exchange. Well,  _almost_ everything; they still had no idea where they stood with Tony.

"I'm hoping you've guessed by now, considering I haven't snuck you out of here under a blanket," Nat said, examining her fingernails with a nonchalance that  _had_  to be feigned, "but everything's basically cool."

"Basically," Steve said, his voice flat, the question, while implied, loud and clear.

"Yeah." Nat nodded, looking up. "He's not going to kill you, Barnes. He's not even going to hurt you a little. He read through most of your file before Clint even broached the subject of your parents."

"And how'd he react?" Steve pressed, since Bucky's tongue was apparently paralyzed. It certainly hadn't been an hour ago.

"He was upset," Nat said with a mild grimace. "Not mad-upset. Just upset. He'll always pretend to be Mr. Above-It-All, but thinking about his parents always gets him. He's down in the lab now. Swears it's better than therapy, not that he'd know from personal experience. Fury's is down there with him, and nobody can talk sense into that maniac better than Nick can."

Bucky breathed out, so slow and controlled that Steve ached for him. "Okay," Bucky muttered to himself, then, louder: "Okay."

With a decisive nod, Nat stood, gesturing toward the door. "Well? Don't make me eat all the rice myself, because I can and I will."

**

Tony didn't make an appearance once throughout dinner, which their small group consumed while slumped in the various obscenely comfortable seats arranged around Tony and Pepper's loft. Conversation remained light, mostly consisting of suggestions from the others of pop culture phenomena that Bucky should check out.

"Don't stress," Steve whispered in his ear after a few dozen movie, television, book, and music recommendations. "Remember, I keep a list."

Full and at the limit of their frayed nerves, Steve and Bucky begged out of the informal get-together as twilight set in outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. "If you think he's up to it, tell Tony we'll talk tomorrow," Steve said as Pepper, looking elegant in a floor-length fuchsia kimono with her honey-colored hair pulled into a high ponytail, accompanied the two men to the elevator.

"Of course." Pepper rested a hand on Bucky's forearm and gave him an encouraging smile. "Please don't worry," she said in her low, soothing tone. "Tony can't and doesn't blame you for what happened. Try to have a restful night."

"Thank you," Bucky murmured, managing a genuine smile, and leaned in to kiss Pepper's cheek. "For everything."

"My pleasure. If you guys need anything, call or text me." She gestured vaguely at the ceiling. "I made sure JARVIS is disabled on your floor. The last thing you need is a disembodied voice startling you."

Steve grinned, conceding with a nod as she turned away, while Bucky frowned in confusion. "I'll tell you later," Steve said, pressing the button to summon the elevator.

"Wait up," came Clint's voice from behind them as he jogged to catch up, followed by Nat in a much more stately, graceful manner. "I'm beat," he explained, leaning against the wall. "And I don't particularly want to be around when Tony finds out we ate all the gaeng daeng."

"' _We_ '?" Nat added, bumping into Clint's arm with her shoulder. "You got a mouse in your pocket?"

"More like a snake, baby," he shot back with a leer, and Nat dissolved into laughter, clinging to his arm as the four of them boarded the elevator. Steve and Bucky looked at each other, raising their eyebrows, but said nothing. Steve smiled to himself as Bucky laced their fingers together, leaning comfortably against him.

Clint settled in on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, his pants unbuttoned, and an  _American Pickers_ marathon on TV, and Bucky retreated into the bathroom on their side of the room, so Steve trailed Nat into the kitchen. As she put the teakettle on to boil, she glanced over her shoulder at Steve.

"So."

Steve blinked. "So..."

Nat leaned against the counter next to him. "How's Barnes holding up? Not about Tony," she clarified. "I mean altogether. Mentally, physically, you name it."

Steve furrowed his brow, considering. "Well, he's a little better than he was when I first found him. He couldn't relax without checking all the windows and doors in my apartment, but he's been okay since that first night. He got a little spooked when you showed up—"

"Tell me about it," Nat said with a half smile. "I found him in your bedroom closet. And he nearly jumped out of his skin when Clint got to the cabin this morning."

Steve shrugged. "Yeah. I think he doesn't know who he can trust yet."

"He sure trusts you." Nat gave him a sly look, and Steve chuckled, reddening.

"He should. We've known each other since we were knee high."

"Yeah, but you didn't  _know_  know each other until this week." Nat's smile widened. "That's a whole different level of trust."

Steve almost –  _almost_ – managed to suppress the happy little sigh that bubbled up in response, and Nat laughed. "I know," she said, her husky voice cracking as she pitched it low. "There's nothing better than ending up with your best friend."

Steve didn't miss the way her eyes hovered on Clint – half melted into the couch cushions and utterly oblivious to their conversation – as she spoke.

It was half-past seven when Bucky emerged from the bathroom, accompanied by a cloud of steam, and Steve's head snapped up, his mouth falling open. Bucky looked like something out of a dream; he wore nothing but a white towel around his waist, the terrycloth hugging the perfect curve of his ass like Steve dreamed of doing. His bare, beautifully muscled torso glistened, and his hair fell, wavy and damp, to his shoulders.

"I'm going to bed," he said, his eyes lingering meaningfully on Steve before skipping to Clint and Nat where they curled together on the couch. "Night, guys."

"Night," Clint echoed with an absent wave, too enthralled with the men dickering over an ancient Coca-Cola machine on TV to look away.

"Night, Barnes." Nat turned her knowing gaze to Steve as he wordlessly watched Bucky disappear into the bedroom they had christened earlier, closing the door behind himself. "How 'bout you, Rogers? Thinking of turning in for the night?"

"Mm-hmm." Steve stood, his head swimming with infinite possibilities and half-formed daydreams of the various things he wanted to do with Bucky behind that closed bedroom door. "See you in the morning."

"Dude, it's not even eight o'clock!" Clint squawked, and Steve ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door on Nat's laughter.

**

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _God,_ Steve," Bucky nearly whined, the muscles in his back rippling as he squirmed into the sensation. "That feels so fucking good."
> 
> "Mm-hmm." Steve didn't bother lifting his head to respond; the vibration from his hummed affirmation made Bucky jolt again, moaning even louder than before.
> 
> " _Fuck...!"_

After what may have been both the quickest and the most thorough shower he'd ever taken, Steve wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed their pile of dirty clothes from the floor – some things, he was amused to note, hadn't changed since the forties – and exited the bathroom. He found the lights dimmed, although Nat and Clint were still cuddling in front of the TV. Steve was confident they were wrapped up enough in each other that whatever he and Bucky got up to – and any resultant noises – wouldn't phase them.

Slipping into the bedroom, Steve tossed the laundry into the corner and leaned with his back against the door, ravenously taking in the sight before him like a blind man seeing for the first time. Bucky lay on the bed on his stomach, wearing not a thread, with one leg drawn up, putting himself on shameless, delicious display; he looked at Steve over his shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his face, and Steve's heart lurched in his chest, overwhelmed as it was with feeling for the man in front of him, for Bucky's miraculous survival, for his good fortune in stumbling over Bucky in the street, and for fate bringing them together the way they were always meant to be.

"Drop the towel and get over here," Bucky murmured, licking his lips. Steve wasted no time obliging. He would, he thought, do anything Bucky asked of him.

Crawling up the bed, Steve hovered over Bucky's prone body, nosing Bucky's hair aside to kiss and nibble at the back of his neck. "I could eat you alive," he growled into Bucky's damp skin, and Bucky shivered.

"Steve," came his breathless moan in reply, and Steve took that as permission to continue.

"Mmm, Buck," he breathed, his lips brushing Bucky's shoulder as he moved downward by degrees, letting his mouth explore and giving into his visceral craving to taste every inch of Bucky's skin.

There was so much he wanted to say – odes to recite, vows to make – but he stayed silent instead, allowing the soft, wet sounds of his mouth sampling Bucky's flesh and the quickening rhythm of Bucky's heavy breaths speak for themselves.

"Fuck." Bucky's voice was muffled, his face buried in his forearms, but his increasing desperation was clearly audible. "How the hell do you know all these ways to drive me crazy already?"

Giving a low chuckle, Steve didn't reply immediately, scraping the jut of one shoulder blade with his teeth and then sucking a dark spot over the nonexistent abrasion. "I've had a long, long time to think about it."

Bucky peered over his shoulder, his wide, sexy smile firmly in place. "You think about me much, baby?"

Steve laughed. "If I told you how much, I'd never hear the end of it." Kissing his way down Bucky's spine, Steve patted his flank as he reached the upper curve of Bucky's ass. "Up. On your knees."

A helpless tremor worked its way through Bucky's body – Steve felt it beneath his palms – as he complied, curling his legs beneath him. Perching on his heels, Bucky buried his face in the comforter, taking a deep, shaky breath when Steve smoothed his palms down Bucky's sides and braced his hips with his hands. "Fuck, you're beautiful," Steve murmured, settling in behind Bucky and leaning in to place a light kiss on his tailbone. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Bucky's voice came out as little more than a breathless squeak. "For what?"

"For letting me touch you like this." Steve spread Bucky open with his thumbs, his touch gentle. Before Bucky could respond, Steve drew his tongue, feather-light, over Bucky's trembling pink hole. Bucky jolted, gasping, but didn't pull away, so Steve did it again, encouraged by the soft whimper the action drew from Bucky's throat. Increasing the pressure with each swipe, Steve relished the shivers rippling through Bucky's body and the tortured groan he gave when Steve swirled the tip of his tongue just so over the soft ring of tight, twitching muscle.

" _God_ , Steve," Bucky nearly whined, the muscles in his back rippling as he squirmed into the sensation. "That feels  _so_  fucking good."

"Mm-hmm." Steve didn't bother lifting his head to respond; the vibration from his hummed affirmation made Bucky jolt again, moaning even louder than before.

" _Fuck_...!"

Gripping Bucky's hips to hold him steady, Steve dove in with heightened enthusiasm, his tongue brushing and flicking and bathing Bucky's most sensitive places, his fingers kneading and clutching quivering, taut muscle. As he paid the most intimate attention to the task before him, Steve was surprised at how much doing so turned him on; every twitch or sound Bucky gave cranked Steve's temperature higher and higher until he was sure he was no more than skin covering a molten core. His dick was so hard it pulsated where it was trapped between his body and the bed, and he found himself moving his hips, the action restless and automatic, the slight friction just enough to take the edge off and allow him to focus. Once he had reduced Bucky to a panting, desperate wreck, Steve pulled himself away with considerable reluctance and used the back of his hand to wipe the saliva from the lower half of his face.

He was grinning when Bucky managed once again to turn his head, blinking glazed, darkened eyes through strands of damp hair.

"How's that?" Steve asked, and Bucky let his head fall onto the bed with a weak groan. Chuckling, Steve crawled closer, rising on his knees to smooth his hands over Bucky's back. "Feeling okay, baby?"

"Uh-huh." It came out muffled against the comforter.

Shuffling closer still, Steve gripped his painfully hard cock and drew it down the cleft of Bucky's ass, dragging the smooth, glossy head over Bucky's hole, soft and pink and wet from Steve's inspired oral performance. As stimulating images went, it ranked among Steve's top five, and he briefly entertained the thought of grabbing his phone and snapping a picture before his better judgment kicked in. "That's so hot," he murmured, swallowing hard, shoving down the urge to press forward as he continued teasing Bucky with gentle but deliberate swipes.

Bucky made a sound that was half moan, half sob, clutching the comforter in both hands. "Do it," he begged. "Put it in. I want it, Stevie, please."

With a hum, Steve took Bucky by the hips and turned him onto his back, slithering up beside him and tucking himself under Bucky's flesh arm, leaving his own right arm free. "Not yet," Steve insisted, his expression heavy with lust and earnestness as he brushed Bucky's hair off his forehead. "I don't wanna hurt you."

With a huff of impatience, Bucky curled gentle metal fingers around the back of Steve's neck and tugged him in for a long, deep kiss, which both aroused and surprised Steve, considering where his mouth had just been. When Bucky relinquished his grip, Steve watched, wide-eyed, as he grabbed Steve's wrist and dragged his hand between them, drawing the middle and ring finger into his mouth. Steve nearly forgot to breathe as he watched Bucky suck on his fingers, his clever tongue laving the digits and darting between.

"Buck... what—"

Releasing Steve's fingers, Bucky pushed his hand downward, his eyes locked on Steve's. "You know what to do, right?" There was no doubt or hesitancy in his gaze, only implicit trust and crackling need. Steve could only nod, unable to break eye contact even as Bucky led Steve's fingers where he wanted them, pressing Steve's hand until his fingertips slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Then they were inside Bucky, the heat of his lover's body drawing him in and welcoming him. Tears stung Steve's eyes as he and Bucky stared breathlessly at each other. Bucky bit his lip, whimpering, and Steve stilled.

"Did I—"

Bucky shook his head. "Feels good. Don't stop."

"You want me to—"

Laughing a little, Bucky smacked Steve's hip. "Shut up, ya big oaf. Do it already!"

Steve snorted, flushing with self-consciousness, and intentionally took himself out of Bucky's line of sight by tucking his head under Bucky's jaw, sucking and nipping at the tender skin of Bucky's neck as he resumed the slow, hesitant motion of his fingers in and out of Bucky's addictive warmth. As Steve's movements became more confident, Bucky vacillated between writhing and quaking, the two states often overlapping. "You're doing so good, sweetheart," Steve murmured after a while, repositioning himself between Bucky's legs to relieve the awkward angle of his wrist. "You're so goddamn beautiful. Fuck, this is hot. I wish you could see how amazing you look taking my fingers like this."

Bucky moaned, the sound laced with desperation. "I'm almost there," he whispered, his long, dark lashes fluttering and his mouth falling open. "Oh, Stevie, do that again. Right there – don't stop –  _hnnn_ —"

Wide-eyed, Steve watched Bucky's back arch as he came with a shout, milky fluid striping his chest and belly in seemingly endless spurts. When his orgasm ebbed, Bucky collapsed with a sigh and a wide smile. "That was unreal."

"You're so fucking sexy," Steve growled, kissing his way up the splattered surface of Bucky's torso and ending with a scorching hot kiss on his smiling lips.

"Fuck me," Bucky murmured in return, and Steve shuddered at the flood of heat that overwhelmed his body at that.

"But we – we don't have anything," Steve said, putting up a most reluctant argument, "and we're not doing that without some kind of slick. No way."

Bucky groaned unhappily. His face was flushed pink, his eyes dark and heavily lidded, and his hair still damp, and Steve had never found him more beautiful. "Then tomorrow, we're fixing that. You got me?"

"I'm not gonna be able to think about anything else, you know."

Bucky grinned. "Yeah. I know." Snaking his arms around Steve's back, Bucky tugged him down, heedless of the mess squelching between them. "How about I give you something to tide you over?"

"Whatever you've got in mind," Steve said, solemn as could be, " _hell_  yes. Please."

**

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scowling, Bucky threw open the door. Finding himself eye to eye with two hundred pounds of murder, Tony recoiled a bit, offering Bucky a grin that almost disguised his nervousness. 
> 
> "Hey, Terminator." He swiveled, reaching for a nearby side table, and smoothly thrust a large, steaming paper cup into Bucky's hands. "Mocha latte, extra whipped. Rogers, there's one here for you, too. Let's talk."

** Chapter 17 **

Steve awoke when Bucky shot upright in his arms at about seven in the morning. "Whuh," Steve gritted out in a rusty voice, slitting his eyes just enough to see Bucky bolt out of bed and yank on his jeans in what appeared to be one fluid motion. 

"Stark," Bucky replied, distracted, snatching his shirt from under the bed and yanking it on.

Stark, indeed; as Steve rolled out of bed and stumbled into his clothes, he could hear Tony's animated voice ranting just outside the bedroom door. "They've both been frozen for the better part of a century. Any more beauty sleep is just vanity!"

"A subject near and dear to you," came Nat's voice, dripping with scorn. "I swear to God, Stark—"

Scowling, Bucky threw open the door. Finding himself eye to eye with two hundred pounds of murder, Tony recoiled a bit, offering Bucky a grin that almost disguised his nervousness.

"Hey, Terminator." He swiveled, reaching for a nearby side table, and smoothly thrust a large, steaming paper cup into Bucky's hands. "Mocha latte, extra whipped. Rogers, there's one here for you, too. Let's talk."

Exchanging a glance with Steve, Bucky followed Tony into the living area, where Tony took a seat on the couch, arms stretched across the back and one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. His own coffee cup sat, drained, on the table in front of him. Bucky sat down in the armchair, watching Tony with apparent wariness, and Steve sat on the arm of the chair, resting a comforting hand on the back of Bucky's neck.

"What's this about, Tony?" Steve piped up, nodding in gratitude as Nat handed over the coffee Tony brought for him before curling herself into a catlike ball on the opposite end of the couch from Tony. She appeared relaxed, but the line of her back told Steve otherwise.

"I'm telling you first because – well, for obvious reasons." Tony sat forward, clapping his hands together. "First of all, Barnes, don't get your vintage panties in a twist over my parents. It's not your fault what HYDRA made you do." Tony grimaced. "Those fuckers."

The tension left Bucky's body as if he had developed a fast leak, and Steve's ebbed along with it. "Even so, I'm sorry," Bucky said in a quiet voice.

"Meh." Tony waved a dismissive hand. "And in case you're worried about how I'd react to all this—" He gestured between Bucky and Steve, raising a suggestive eyebrow, "—that's not an issue, either."

"We weren't." Steve gave him a tight smile. "Worried about it, that is."

Bucky reached over his shoulder, and Steve linked their fingers. Nat barely suppressed a smile; Tony merely shrugged.

"Good enough. Anyway, here's the deal. I've had my suspicions for a while, so I've had JARVIS tracking S.H.I.E.L.D's internal files. We came across a huge database buried way down deep in the system, and JARVIS finally cracked it late last night."  Tony scrubbed a hand over his face; Steve noticed for the first time how haggard he looked, as if he hadn't slept. His dark hair was askew, which spoke to his habit of raking his hands through it when he was worked up. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised."

Nat sat up straight, abandoning the pretense of nonchalance. "Meaning what?"

"Compromised how?" Steve asked, his question overlapping Nat's.

"Meaning HYDRA has been pulling S.H.I.E.L.D's strings damn near since the beginning," Tony said, his tone grim. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is infected with HYDRA operatives from the top down. The files I went through last night detailed whose allegiance is predominantly to which side. We have enough information to take this thing down."

Stunned, his face numb with shock, Steve found himself speaking. "But _how_? The second they get wind we're onto them, they're going to scatter like cockroaches."

"There's no way we'll be able to get all of them," Nat agreed, grimacing. "And those left over when the dust settles will regroup and strike back."

"I didn't say there wouldn't be setbacks," Tony snapped, predictably raking his hands through his hair. "Maybe even casualties."

At that, Bucky's head whipped to the side, his eyes wide as he stared at Steve.

"But it's not like we can just let this go on," Tony continued, setting a manic pace as he strode back and forth across the room. "The circle of people we know we can trust pretty much encompasses the people in this room, plus Barton, Banner, Fury, and Thor, but we don't know if we can count on Goldilocks in a pinch, since he's literally on another planet. The longer we let HYDRA have control, the more entrenched its hold on S.H.I.E.L.D. will be. Rogers, is that the legacy you think Agent Carter wants left behind? You want the agency who caused this—" He gestured at Bucky, who glowered at him "—to be in charge of national security? Imagine what they'll do to him when they find out he's right under their nose."

Steve's lip curled, an automatic response to the fear and rage that washed over him. "They'll get to him over my dead fucking body."

Nat's mouth fell open, and Tony paused mid-stride to gape at him, blinking. "Yeah," Tony muttered at last, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black Versace pants. "So we need a solid plan to take down as many of them as possible as fast as possible. Barton's rounding up Fury and the Jolly Green Giant and meeting us in my living room. Pepper's making about fifty gallons of coffee. Let's go."

Nat followed Tony toward the elevator, firing question after question at him, but when Steve turned in the same direction, Bucky touched his wrist. "I have something to take care of first," Bucky said, his fingers almost achingly gentle as he traced Steve's jaw, his eyes stormy and indecipherable. "Go on ahead. Give me a few minutes, okay?"

Nodding, Steve nestled his face into the palm of Bucky's hand, closing his eyes for a moment to soak in the warmth of Bucky's skin against his own. When he opened his eyes again, Bucky gave him the tiniest smile before leaning in and pressing their lips together in a soft, unbearably sweet kiss. "I love you," Bucky whispered. "Go on. Get started with the strategy meeting. I'll see you soon."

"Love you too," Steve said as Bucky pushed him gently in the direction of the elevator. As the doors closed, Steve watched Bucky watching him, his face inscrutable.

"Dad talked about the Howlies a lot," Tony commented, leaning against the mirrored back wall of the elevator, "but he never mentioned you and Barnes polishing each other's rifles."

Steve shot him a death glare, but Tony merely grinned.

"Hey, c'mon, Cap – I'm just glad you're getting laid!"

**

Embroiled in their strategy meeting, Steve only became consciously concerned that Bucky hadn't joined them when they broke two hours later, tasked as individuals or in pairs with pieces of the plan. Steve and Bucky were assigned recon, staking out various locations over the next week and installing Tony's cleverly designed, virtually invisible tracking devices on all HYDRA vehicles.

Steve took the stairs to their floor two at a time, bursting out of the stairwell with the expectation of finding Bucky either napping or doing research on his phone. Skidding to a stop in the main room, Steve frowned at the empty couch before peering inside both bedrooms and even the darkened bathroom.

"Buck?" he called, his voice echoing back at him from the floor to ceiling windows. "You here?"

He wasn't. He had, however, left a note on the refrigerator. It was written on a page torn out of a notebook and folded in half with Steve's name scrawled on the blank side in Bucky's surprisingly lovely script. Steve snatched up the note, sending a refrigerator magnet careening across the kitchen, and read it with disbelief and horror dawning on his face.

Bucky was going after HYDRA on his own.

When Nat and Clint stepped off the elevator, they found Steve in the kitchen, slumped against the counter and trembling the way he did when he was ninety-four pounds of skin and bone and barely survived many a winter. "Cap?" Clint asked, frowning in concern, as Nat hurried to Steve's side and wrapped a bracing arm around his waist.

"Steve, what's the matter?"

"Buh." Steve swallowed around the basketball in his throat. "Bucky. He's gone."

Nat plucked the note from Steve's lax hand and skimmed it. "Okay, slight change in plans. Steve, you're benched. You're going to to stay with Pepper until—"

Opening his mouth to lodge a vehement protest, Steve shrank back at Nat's sharp look.

"You're emotionally compromised," she said, brisk and efficient as she shepherded him toward the elevator with Clint on their heels. "You'll be a liability to us if you're throwing yourself headlong into every hidey-hole we uncover just in case Barnes is being held there, and you know damn well that's exactly what you'd be doing if we'd let you."

Steve couldn't argue with that. He was already vibrating with the urge to bolt from the building and tear every structure in Manhattan apart in search of Bucky. _I can't lose him again_ , he thought, on the razor's edge of hysteria.

**

The next morning, a commotion on the street in front of the tower drew the attention of the building's security guards, which in turn drew the attention of Tony's seemingly omniscient AI entity, J.A.R.V.I.S, who alerted Tony. Steve, who hadn't slept a wink and had instead nearly paced furrows into the carpet on both their floor and Tony's, overheard the terse phone call Nat took from Tony and followed the rest of the team downstairs to gape at the spectacle before them.

In the middle of the street sat an old school bus.

Every seat on that bus contained a high-level HYDRA operative, each of whom was alive and well, if somewhat bruised and lacerated, and shackled to a seat.

"This would be the work of your little love muffin, wouldn't it?" Tony asked, sidling up next to Steve with his arms crossed over his chest and an expression of undisguised admiration on his smartass mug.

Snapping his mouth shut, Steve merely nodded, scanning the passenger side windows of the bus. Two heads per seat, two seats per row, thirteen rows besides the driver's seat...

"If this was Sergeant Barnes, he seems to have rounded up over fifty of HYDRA's VIPs," Nick Fury commented from Steve's other side. "How the blue hell did he pull this off?"

"You gotta know Bucky," Steve muttered, pride swelling his chest and plastering a wide grin on his face. "He's capable of way more than anybody ever gave him credit for."

"That's great," Nat said as she stepped off the bus after presumably taunting its unwilling passengers. "So where the hell is he?"

Steve blinked, his brow creasing for a scant moment before realization dawned in his bleary, red-rimmed blue eyes. "I think I know. Tony, you got a car I can borrow?"

Rummaging in the pockets of his Armani suit trousers, Tony dug out the keys to his personal Audi and tossed them to Steve with a grin. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

**

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Steve." Bucky's smile was knowing when Steve blinked himself back to the present. "Get out of your own head, punk. Don't fuck this up by thinking about ways you could fuck this up."
> 
> With a self-conscious chuckle, Steve shrugged. "Yeah, well."
> 
> "Here. Let me help." Bucky slid his hands between them to grip Steve's dick, giving him a few firm strokes while staring into his eyes. "I want," Bucky purred, "your cock."

** Chapter 18 **

When Steve let himself into his apartment, he noticed two things immediately: the alarm system was disarmed, and the shower was running behind the closed bathroom door. His shoulders sagged with relief, and he bent to remove his boots, discarding them and then the rest of his clothing on the floor just inside the front door. No matter what his usual habits, he couldn’t care less at the moment about the neatness of the apartment.

Bucky didn’t turn when Steve pulled the shower curtain aside, pausing to admire the lean musculature of Bucky’s back, ass, and thighs. The water cascaded over his shoulders and down the length of his body, mesmerizing Steve for a second. His hypnosis was broken when Bucky spoke.

“Good timing.” Bucky tipped his head back, allowing the water to sluice the shampoo foam from his hair.

“Looks that way.” Steve stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain closed behind him. Sliding his arms around Bucky’s waist, he nuzzled at Bucky’s ear, nipping at his earlobe. “I’m really fucking mad at you, you know.”

Bucky sighed, sagging against Steve’s chest and resting his hands on Steve’s forearms where they crossed over Bucky’s stomach. “I know.”

His jaw clenching, Steve tightened his embrace and growled, “Don’t ever do that to me again, James. I swear to God, if I lose you again, I _will not_ survive it.”

“Don’t talk like th–”

“I’m not fucking kidding.” Steve pulled back enough to allow Bucky to turn in his arms, their eyes meeting through the steam. “I spent years grieving over you. You were dead, it was my fault, and I _mourned_ you. You don’t understand how much of a miracle it is to me that you’re still alive, and you’re here, and for some goddamn reason, you want to be with me. After all that, if something happens to you…” Choking up, Steve tugged Bucky close, burying his face in the side of Bucky’s neck. He had more to say – volumes more – but his voice would not cooperate. All he could do was lean against Bucky and tremble as Bucky’s arms tightened around him.

“I’m sorry, sugar,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s dampening hair. “I never want to hurt you or upset you or scare you. I’m never gonna leave you. I just… I felt like taking down as much of HYDRA as I could was my job. I brought 'em to your front door. No way was I letting you or your friends get hurt going after those fuckers.”

“Our friends,” Steve murmured, and Bucky chuckled a little.

“Okay. I’ll try and get used to that. In the meantime,” he said, drawing back and palming Steve’s cheek, “forgive me?”

“Too late. Already done.”

A tiny smile bloomed on Bucky’s face, almost instantly blossoming into a brilliant grin. “That was easy. What else can I get you to go along with?”

“I think pretty much anything you want,” Steve said, his tone light and playful despite the utter truthfulness of his words.

Bucky licked his lips, his teeth sinking lightly into his lower lip as he allowed his eyes to slide from Steve’s face and down his chest. “You know what I want.”

“Mmm.” Steve turned Bucky around and pressed him face-first against the wall. “I want it, too,” he murmured, moving Bucky’s hair aside and giving the back of his neck a gentle bite. Bucky gave a shaky gasp, arching his back, and Steve took advantage of the position by pressing the length of his stiffening cock against the cleft of Bucky’s ass.

“Nngh, Stevie,” Bucky grunted, reaching back with his metal hand to grip Steve’s hip and pull him closer.

Steve reached around him and grabbed the bottle of body wash off the shelf. Wordlessly, he lathered his hands, sliding them between Bucky’s body and the wall, spreading the suds over Bucky’s chest and thumbing deliberately at his nipples. Bucky whimpered, giving a whole-body shudder, and Steve smiled against the back of Bucky’s head as he slid his hands downward, tracing the taut lines of Bucky’s abs with his fingertips.

“This for me?” Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s dick, which throbbed against his palm in perfect time with the groan Bucky bit off in return.

“Oh, fuck. _Everything’s_ for you. Take it,” Bucky panted, his forehead pressed against the tile wall.

“I will,” Steve said, stroking Bucky’s cock with his left hand while his right crept between the two of them, his fingertips delving between the muscular globes of Bucky’s ass and sweeping over his hole. “I’m gonna fill you up,” he purred into Bucky’s ear, “but first I wanna get you into bed so I can get you nice and wet with my tongue again.”

“Yeah?” Bucky quivered beneath Steve’s fingertips, reacting to their gentle pressure or to Steve’s words or to the heat of Steve’s breath against his skin; it didn’t much matter at that point. All that mattered to Steve was completing their connection in the most fundamental way, reducing themselves to their primal forms and letting their bodies fuse as inexorably and inextricably as their souls already had.

He _wanted_. He wanted more than he’d ever wanted before, so much it scared him a little. At the same time, however, Bucky’s solidness against him, the reality of him in Steve’s arms, calmed the chaos in Steve's mind, narrowing his focus to a pinpoint, a laser beam trained on nothing but Bucky’s pleasure.

“I want you so fucking bad,” Bucky said, turning them in one deft motion to put Steve’s back against the wall and pressing himself against Steve’s chest, sliding one thickly muscled thigh between Steve’s legs. He snatched the body wash from the shelf, taking his turn at soaping Steve from shoulders to feet. His hands moved so reverently it felt like worship. When he had washed every part of Steve and turned him this way and that beneath the shower spray to rinse away the soap, Bucky turned off the water and reached for towels.

"C'mon." Steve waited only long enough for Bucky to make a half-hearted attempt at drying his hair before grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallway and around the corner into the bedroom. Awash in the midday light, they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and tongues, mouths fused as they shifted around atop the covers, squirming into a central position where neither's feet hung over the edge of the mattress.

"Hold on," Bucky gasped, and Steve pulled back, his face almost comically distraught. "No, baby, it's not like that," Bucky assured him, grinning. "I just wanna make sure... are you totally ready for this?"

" _Yes_." Steve rested his forehead against Bucky's. "I've never been more ready for anything. I want to be with you every way I can."

"Me, too." Bucky's eyes slipped closed as Steve sucked and kissed his way down Bucky's neck and chest, pausing to tease Bucky's taut nipples with the heat of his mouth. Bucky hummed with helpless pleasure, pecs jumping prettily with every luxurious sweep of Steve's tongue, fingers clutching the comforter. "Stevie," he whined as Steve slid downward, "I'm gonna go off like a rocket if you keep that up."

With a chuckle, Steve settled on his stomach between Bucky's legs. "You wanna save the foreplay for another time?"

Bucky nodded, the gesture so vehement his hair fell over his eyes. Nearly overcome with nerves, Steve grounded himself by sliding his hands beneath Bucky's ass and lifting his hips. Bucky gave a little yelp, grabbing hold of his legs behind the knees to stabilize himself. His startled sound morphed into a long, soft groan as Steve, holding Bucky's hips aloft, leaned in to press feather-light kisses down the underside of Bucky's cock, over his balls, and around his hole.

"Just warning you," Steve murmured, nipping lightly at one perfect cheek, "I'm never gonna get tired of doing this."

Bucky answered with a fevered moan as Steve's clever tongue found its way to the center of him. By the time Steve withdrew, satisfied with the level of relaxation he had coaxed Bucky to reach, sweat ran down Bucky's temples and pooled at the center of his chest. Nearly sobbing in bliss, Bucky clutched his legs tight enough to leave marks, and Steve lowered his hips to the bed, guiding him to release his grip. Bucky immediately reached for Steve instead, dragging Steve atop himself and bringing them face to face and belly to belly, hooking his ankles at the small of Steve's back.

"Just like this," Bucky said, his voice low and hoarse.

Steve stared down at him, his heart pounding, drinking in every detail: Bucky's damp hair spread out beneath his head like a dark halo; his long, dark eyelashes framing the steel blue eyes that saw the depths of Steve's soul; his wide mouth with its generous cupid's bow lips bitten red and shiny; the charming cleft in his chin; his razor sharp jaw dusted with faint stubble; the line of his neck drawing downward to his perfect collarbones; his shoulders, symmetrical in shape but opposite in material. He couldn't possibly love Bucky more, Steve thought, emotion welling inside him until he was sure he would explode, forcing him to press his face into the side of Bucky's neck until he got his shaking under control.

"Shh." Bucky's metal fingers stroked through Steve's hair, almost unbearably gentle against his scalp. "It's okay, sugar. _We're_ okay. I love you so much."

"I love you," Steve breathed, his lips brushing the hinge of Bucky's jaw. "Are _you_ ready?"

Bucky grinned when Steve drew back to look at him. "I've been doing some reading on the internet, and I stopped at a twenty-four hour drugstore for supplies on my way here. I couldn't be readier."

"Is that a word?"

"We're in bed, naked, with my legs wrapped around you," Bucky said, raising an eyebrow, "and you're gonna debate me on linguistics?"

Steve laughed, pulling back just enough to get his knees under him, bracing himself on the bed to rock his pelvis against Bucky. "I'm not gonna debate you on anything," he said, relishing the way Bucky's eyes rolled back in his head for a moment at the friction Steve's movement caused. "I'm gonna fuck you till you forget everything but my name."

The smart-ass response Steve expected didn't come; instead, Bucky gripped Steve harder with his powerful thighs and bucked his hips, drawing a moan from each of them. " _Yes_ ," Bucky hissed, pointing at the nightstand on what Steve already thought of as Bucky's side of the bed. "Grab that bottle."

Steve obliged, and Bucky tore the plastic security seal from the bottle with his teeth. "Gimme your hand," he said, and Steve smirked.

"So romantic."

"You want romance, we can get out of this bed right now and read each other Jane Austen in front of the fireplace," Bucky deadpanned, and Steve shook his head, offering his hand.

"Romance can wait. Lube me up."

"Atta boy." Bucky squirted a stream of the silky, slippery silicone lubricant into Steve's hand, coating Steve's fingers. Steve bent to kiss Bucky, long and sweet, as he slid his fingers inside his lover, taking both time and care to slick him as deeply as he could. When he concentrated on a certain spot he had stumbled upon last time, Bucky reacted much the same as he had then, crying out sharply into Steve's mouth and encircling Steve's wrist with his metal fingers so he couldn't withdraw. Steve was more than happy to accommodate, pressing and rubbing the soft bulge until Bucky, gasping and groaning, forced his hand away.

"You close?" Steve murmured, nosing along Bucky's jaw.

Bucky gave a pitiable little whimper, nodding. "C'mon, baby, I want you in me when I come."

Steve flushed at that, his pulse fluttering; excitement coursed through him, edged with arousal, adoration, and something akin to terror. What if he hurt Bucky? What if he was no good at this? He couldn't stand the thought of Bucky feeling obligated to fake enjoyment while Steve flailed and flopped around like a fish out of water.

"Steve." Bucky's smile was knowing when Steve blinked himself back to the present. "Get out of your own head, punk. Don't fuck this up by thinking about ways you could fuck this up."

With a self-conscious chuckle, Steve shrugged. "Yeah, well."

"Here. Let me help." Bucky slid his hands between them to grip Steve's dick, giving him a few firm strokes while staring into his eyes. "I want," Bucky purred, "your cock."

Steve's backbone effectively melted, taking with it his insecurity. Nodding dumbly, he drew back to kneel on the bed with Bucky's legs splayed on either side of him. Slowly stroking himself, his lips wet and parted, Bucky handed over the lube, looking like every sexual fantasy Steve had entertained in his entire life rolled into one delicious package. Steve doused his hand with entirely too much of the slippery liquid, which dripped all over his thighs and the bedcovers as he hastily applied it to himself, and his hands were so slick by the time he attempted to set the bottle down on the nightstand that it squirted right out of his hand and hit the floor.

Bucky laughed. "Jesus Christ! Get down here before you give yourself an aneurysm."

Steve glanced at his hands before shrugging and wiping them off on the comforter; they'd surely have to wash it anyway. Lowering himself over Bucky again, Steve brushed Bucky's smiling lips with his own. "Show me," Steve breathed, and Bucky guided him into place, seating the swollen tip of Steve's cock against his opening.

"Right here," Bucky whispered, all traces of mirth gone, replaced with unmistakable desire. "Go slow, okay?"

Watching Bucky's face for any trace of discomfort, Steve held his breath as he pushed forward as gently as he could. At first, nothing happened, but when Bucky released a shaky breath, he relaxed enough to allow Steve to enter him. With a gasp, Steve halted immediately with just the head of his cock sheathed in Bucky's nearly unbearable heat. Panting with the effort of restraint, he stared at Bucky, whose eyes were squeezed tightly closed but his face an indecipherable mask. "Are you okay?" Steve gritted out in a broken voice.

"Mm-hmm." Bucky swallowed hard and forced his eyes open to meet Steve's. "It's a lot, but it's all right. Go."

Cautious, Steve pressed deeper in increments, his blood rushing in his ears and behind his eyes. His face was flaming hot, he couldn't seem to control his facial expression, and he was certain he looked like a total chucklehead, but the way Bucky stared up at him with wide-eyed trust filled him with an overwhelming sense of power. He did, he supposed, hold Bucky's safety in his hands; he was fully responsible for keeping Bucky comfortable and uninjured. It was a heady, daunting thought, but Steve refused to banish it in favor of sensation, because he would never forgive himself if the experience – a first for Bucky as much as for himself – was anything less than perfect for Bucky.

Bucky grunted, reaching with both hands to clutch Steve's biceps. "Fuck, Steve," he mumbled, his eyes sliding to Steve's from a point somewhere above their heads. "You're so _big_."

Steve noted with dismay that he was only about a third of the way in. "I'm sorry," he said, vaguely panicked. "We can stop if—"

"No." Bucky licked his lips. "I'm okay; I promise. I want all of you."

Breath hitching, Steve nodded, his heart swelling with love for this man who had always been willing to go through any number of unpleasant experiences for Steve, many involving pain of one variety or another. "I don't want to hurt you, Buck," he whispered, blinking away the sting of tears.

"It doesn't hurt," Bucky assured him in a low, syrupy tone, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "It's just really, _really_ intense. It already feels better than a minute ago. Don't stop. Please?"

"Would it help if I kiss you?"

Bucky smiled dreamily. "Mmm. Always."

When Steve bent closer to oblige, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, holding his upper body in place. Focusing on the delicious slide of Bucky's lips and tongue against his to keep his mind off how fucking incredible it felt to be even partway inside Bucky, Steve nudged in further. The impossibly snug circle of muscle gripping his shaft had relaxed enough to make deeper entry easier for both of them, and before he realized how far he had gone, Steve’s hips bumped up against the taut softness of Bucky's ass.

"Oh." Steve's brow furrowed with equal parts concern and chagrin. For his part, Bucky didn't appear put out by the intrusion. His eyelashes fluttered against his pink cheeks as his face contorted with shocked bliss.

Bucky loosened his grip on Steve's neck, his hands sliding down Steve's sweat-dampened back. "Fuck, you're deep." His breath escaped in a rush when Steve, in the process of replanting his knees on the bed, shifted his hips. "Oh, God," Bucky groaned, his fingers digging into Steve's back. "It's good, baby, it's _so_ good. You can move; just be gentle."

Steve didn't – _couldn't_ – answer with words. Instead, he tucked an arm under Bucky's neck, burying his face in Bucky's hair, and began rocking his hips in a slow, easy rhythm, drawing back only a couple of inches before pressing forward again, careful to keep his movements measured.

He had thought everything he and Bucky had done in bed so far couldn't possibly be topped, but nothing in his life, even the glorious past week, had prepared him for this. Physically, it was, bar none, the most pleasurable thing he'd ever experienced. Every miniscule movement set off a string of Fourth of July sparklers along the length of his cock, the sensation gathering and pooling in the pit of his stomach, growing in power and intensity until he thought he might go insane. The heat of Bucky's body in his arms, willingly pinned beneath him, was more addictive than any drug could possibly hope to be.

Emotionally, he was entirely overwhelmed; all he could do was attempt to shut down his brain until afterward, when he hoped he'd be better equipped to handle the tidal wave of feelings flowing through him.

Every cautious thrust forced a soft but fervent moan from Bucky's throat, sounds that seemed utterly irrepressible, breaking loose even when Bucky bit his lips or pressed his face into Steve's shoulder. Their heavy breaths flowed hot over each other's skin as they released soft grunts and whimpers like secrets into each other's ears.

"More," Bucky gasped after a while, crossing his ankles at the small of Steve's back and giving a loud groan at the change in position. "Harder, doll; I can take it."

With a choked moan, Steve complied, increasing the pace and pressure of his thrusts, and they both cried out in response. "Oh, _Buck_ ," Steve nearly sobbed, shaking with the effort to hold back when his body implored him to grind Bucky through the mattress. His fingers tangled in Bucky's hair, Steve distracted himself with a deep, impassioned kiss, thrilling at the desperate noises Bucky made into Steve's mouth.

His legs a vise around Steve's waist, Bucky released the grip of his flesh hand on Steve's back and managed to worm it between them to stroke himself in time with their movements. "Don't stop," Bucky panted. "I wanna come while you fuck me, _please_ , you feel so fucking good..."

With the pressure building in his abdomen, Steve doubted stopping was even an option. He dimly wondered if he could hold out long enough for Bucky to come first, but before it became an imminent concern, Bucky let out a heated cry, his face contorting, his body stiffening, and his legs tightening as his heat spilled between them. Steve watched in awe as Bucky shook apart beneath him, whimpering and gasping out Steve's name. When Bucky opened his eyes, Steve followed him over the edge, letting out a feral growl as he came, helpless and frozen at his depth within his lover as his release surged through his body and flooded into Bucky. When it was over, he collapsed, trembling, with his forehead resting at the base of Bucky's throat and Bucky's metal hand rubbing light circles into the back of Steve's neck.

"Steve," Bucky whispered once they had caught their breath, and Steve raised his head, dizzy and spent but nonetheless grinning like a fool. "Well? What'd you think?"

"What'd _I_ think?" Steve gave an incredulous laugh. "It doesn't matter what _I_ think. Are _you_ okay?"

"I'm fine, and of course it matters," Bucky said, letting his legs fall from Steve's waist. "I wanted this to be perfect for you, ya big dummy."

"It _was_." Steve slid his arm from beneath Bucky's head, bracing his hands on the bed and smiling fondly down at Bucky's flushed, sweaty face. "I wanted it to be perfect for you, too."

"Sugar, you have no idea how perfect it was." Bucky winced as Steve slowly and carefully pulled out and rolled onto his side to curl up next to Bucky, throwing his arm over Bucky's waist, heedless of the cooling mess on his belly. "Ugh. That feels weird."

"Weird, like..."

"Doesn't hurt," Bucky said, turning his head to smile at Steve. "I just feel sort of... empty. Having you inside me was..." He sighed, a contented sound if Steve ever heard one. "And I thought I felt close to you before," he murmured, touching Steve's face with his warm metal fingers.

"I love you."

"Love you more, punk." Bucky raised a lazy eyebrow. "Y'know, we should get married."

Stunned, Steve swallowed hard, laughing a little. "That's just the afterglow talking."

"Nope." Bucky's eyes didn't waver. "I'da asked you before the war if it was legal and I thought you'd say _yes_. It's legal now, and I'm hoping..."

"Depends," Steve said carefully, unwilling to get his hopes up in case Bucky was teasing.

"On...?"

"Whether or not you're really asking."

A grin broke across Bucky's face. "I'm asking."

"Well." His heart pounding, Steve suppressed his own enormous grin for as long as possible, which was about a quarter of a second. "Then I'm sayin' _yes_."

"Good. No rush." Bucky moved closer, brushing a soft kiss against Steve's lips before melting into his arms. "As some wise man once said, I want to experience everything."

"Some wise _ass_ , maybe."

"Speaking of your ass," Bucky said, causing Steve to give an unbecoming snort. "I'm gonna need to get _much_ better acquainted with it _very_ soon."

Steve chuckled, kissing the top of his head. "Anything you want, Buck."

They drifted in and out of sleep for a while, entwined with each other in the afternoon light, until a faint sound piqued Steve's ear. "Be right back," he mumbled, kissing Bucky's bare shoulder, and Bucky hummed without opening his eyes. Naked and markedly sticky, Steve located his pants in the bathroom and dug his phone out of his pocket.

_Messages_

**Nat** _So... everything ok?_

Smiling, Steve sat on the edge of the bed, watching Bucky doze. He swiped his thumb across the screen to unlock his phone and tapped in a response:

_Oh yeah... never better._

**

::THE END::

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](https://venusdoom3.tumblr.com)!


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